


I Am No Bird

by Saelryth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saelryth/pseuds/Saelryth
Summary: We follow the growth of one Sansa Stark, orphan, through her maturation and her relationship with the magnetic Mr Clegane...-or-A Sansan Jane Eyre retelling.Rated E for later chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa begins her new life at school...

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. On this cold and rainy day, there was no one strolling about Vale Manor’s grand gardens, no tittering laughter of fair ladies, nor boasts of young gentlemen.  
Today, little Sansa Stark decided, was an awful day.  
Sansa Stark lived with her Aunt Lysa and her young cousin, Robert. One would think that two children would get along well, laughing and playing as the days wore on, but sadly, Robert was terrible:  
He pulled Sansa’s red braids and stomped her feet, threw things at her, and then when Aunt Lysa came in, demanding to know the source of the noise, he would lie, and say it was Sansa’s fault.  
Aunt Lysa always believed him, because, as she was apt to remind her, Sansa was an orphan, with no money of her own, a charity case.  
Charity case- these words were Robert’s favorite to shout at Sansa when she was in his way. He bullied and mistreated her, but no one stopped him, for Sansa was a burden on the family.  
Uncle John had died some time ago of the fever, and no sooner had his last breath left his body than Aunt Lysa turned her wrath upon Sansa.  
If was Aunt Lysa’s wrath that drove Sansa to hide in the window of the library on this day, having pulled a book from the shelf and curling up in the window seat, drawing the curtains so that no one may find her.  
So engulfed was she in her book, that when the curtains parted to reveal a sneering Robert, Sansa was taken aback.  
With a wicked grin, Robert snatched the book from her hands.  
“Filthy peasant,” He teased. “Reading books that don’t belong to you.”  
Sansa fumed silently. Aunt Lysa had already ordered her to be silent that day for speaking out against her maid, who had accused Sansa of playing in the garden too long before the rain began.  
And so, Sansa had hidden herself away, trying to be a good girl, trying to obey, as she knew her father and mother would have wanted, but now, cousin Robert was here, and jeering down at her, and she could feel her temper boil as he began calling her all sorts of nasty names.  
“What do you want, cousin?” Sansa asked as Robert paused for a breath.  
“Cousin? Cousin?” Robert asked incredulously. “Is that how you address your betters, orphan? You are to call me Master Arryn.”  
Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but Robert was quicker than her, reaching out with all his might and slapping her hard across her face.  
Tears welling in her eyes, Sansa did the only thing she could think of in that moment, knocking him to the ground and wrestling with him as he tried to hit her again.  
“Wicked boy!” Sansa yelled, “You never stop bullying me!”  
Hearing the commotion from the next room, Aunt Lysa and the maid came running.  
Seeing the children wrestling on the floor, cries of “No, Sansa!” and “Stop this instant!” came from the women, who pulled the waif of a girl off of her cousin in an instant.  
Robert ran to his mother, crying.  
“Mama, she hit me! And called me wicked names!”  
“Sansa Stark!” Aunt Lysa yelled. “You are my dependant, and as such, you are never again to lay a hand on my son again. Shae,” she turned, addressing the maid, “Lock her in the Red Room.”  
“No!” Sansa yelled, trying to run away. She feared the Red Room more than anything in the house, even Aunt Lysa.  
But Shae was far too quick for Sansa, and was able to grab a hold of her and drag her into the Red Room, all the while Sansa kicked and screamed.  
“Hush now, young Miss,” Shae said firmly. “It's your own fault for provoking the young master.”  
Aunt Lysa swiftly came up the stairs to the Red Room, a sneering Robert in tow.  
“You are to spend the night in the Red Room. Pray your Uncle’s ghost does not come down and take you with him!”  
With a slam, the door closed, and Sansa was alone.

Some days later, when Sansa had ample time to recover from her frightful night spent alone in the Red Room. Sansa was delighted to finally be out of her room, and so she made her way down to the library, where she promptly found the book she had been reading days before, and pulled it out of the shelf, ready to sit quietly and enjoy herself, when Robert appeared from behind the curtains over the window.  
“Finally caught you, you thief. Stealing my books!” he crowed.  
“I’m not stealing, I’m borrowing,” Sansa backed away a step or two, “And they aren’t your books, anyway.”  
“They will be,” Robert preened, “And one day everything in this house will be mine, and you shall be a servant under my roof!”  
Sansa watched as he raised his arm, holding a toy club in one hand, ready to strike her, and she raised her book above her head to shield herself, when Robert cowed away from her and ran for his mother, yelling about how she had tried to strike him.  
Sansa ran after her cousin, determined to expose his lies, but Aunt Lysa would hear nothing of it.  
Instead, she admonished her child for associating with Sansa, who, feeling unjustly treated, retorted that he was not fit to associate with her.  
Aunt Lysa’s face turned red as a beet, and she grabbed Sansa’s arm, towing her down the hall and up the stairs to her room, pushing her none too gently inside.  
“You are to stay here all day, and not breathe a word or move a muscle, you wretch. And learn not to speak ill of your betters.”  
“Betters!” Sansa cried. “How would Uncle John feel about your treatment of me?”  
Aunt Lysa paled. “What did you say?”  
“My Uncle John is in Heaven, along with my mother and father, and they can see all that you do, locking me away, treating me unjustly.” Sansa stood her ground as her Aunt dissolved into tears and ran from the room.  
“Without a doubt, Sansa Stark,” Shae hissed, “You are the most cruel child I have ever seen.”  
The rest of the day passed slowly and miserably for Sansa.

One day, a carriage pulled into the yard, and a strange man dressed all in black stepped out. Sansa watched him from her room as Shae braided her hair, telling her stories of her childhood.  
The clock in the hall chimed, signaling the new hour, and Sansa was sent for, to appear before Aunt Lysa and her guest.  
Shae helped Sansa straighten her dress and smooth down her hair, kissed her forehead and shooed her along.  
Holding her breath as she walked into the drawing room, Sansa entered with all of her courage, not knowing why her Aunt had sent for her.  
She was greeted by a sour looking old man who looked her up and down with disgust.  
“This is the child I wrote to you about, Mister Pycelle,” Aunt Lysa said.  
They both began to critique her appearance, and Mister Pycelle directed his attention fully to Sansa.  
“What is your name, girl?” he asked in a pinched voice.  
“Sansa Stark, sir.” Sansa was her bravest and looked him dead in the eyes, scared that if she looked away, this man would somehow punish her for it.  
“And are you a good girl, Sansa Stark?” he continued.  
Before Sansa had a chance to speak, Aunt Lysa interjected a sharp, “No.”  
“I am sad to hear it. There is nothing worse than a misbehaved child, especially a girl. Tell me, Miss Stark, do you know where the wicked go?”  
“To Hell, sir,” Sansa replied, not looking away, but fear began to overtake her.  
“And what is Hell? Can you tell me that?”  
“A pit of fire, sir,” Sansa replied.  
“And should you like to fall into that pit?” Mister Pycelle’s eyes burned with something Sansa had not seen before, but knew boded ill for her.  
“No, sir.” She replied  
“What must you do to avoid it?” Pycelle continued to question.  
Sansa thought for a second, for the first time breaking eye contact with the older man.  
“I must stay healthy and not die, sir.” She thought it was a sensible answer.  
Pycelle visibly fumed as he began to reproach Sansa for her answer, telling her of children younger than her who died every day.  
Then he began questioning again, asking her if she followed the Seven, read the holy scriptures.  
When Sansa replied that she only read them sometimes, and without joy, Mister Pycelle shook his head.  
“That proves that you have a wicked heart, child.” He turned again to Aunt Lysa, who gestured for Sansa to sit.  
“As you see, Mister Pycelle, she is a headstrong, obstinate girl with no faith in the Seven. She lacks discipline. Should you agree to take her into your fine institution, I should like for her to be kept there permanently, with no holiday visits. You must watch for her sharp tongue, but above all, steel yourself against her worst quality: she is a liar.”  
Sansa became angry, and Mister Pycelle began to reproach her, before addressing Aunt Lysa again.  
“Deceit in a child is a terrible thing, Madam. You did the right thing to write to me.”  
Aunt Lysa nodded her thanks before continuing.  
“I should like her to be made humble. Useful. To be brought up in a manner that suits her prospects.”  
Mister Pycelle assured her that Sansa would be brought up in a fitting manner, with hard work and constant activity. With simple food and modest dress, and above all, daily prayers to the Seven.  
As the adults said their goodbyes, Pycelle turned once again to Sansa, and handed her a book.  
“There, child. Read it with great care. Especially where punishments for liars are concerned.”  
After he took his leave, Aunt Lysa regarded Sansa cooly.  
“You may return to your room,” She waved her hand.  
As Sansa reached the door, suddenly her anger boiled over, and courage filled her. She turned to face her Aunt.  
“I am not a liar.”  
“I beg your pardon?” Aunt Lysa was shocked and taken aback.  
“I am not a liar. For if I was a liar, I would say that I love you, and I do not. I dislike you even more than your son Robert, whom you should give this book to, for he is the liar.”  
Aunt Lysa froze. “What more have you to say?”she gritted out through clenched teeth.  
“I am glad you are no longer a relation of mine, and I shall never call you Aunt again for as long as I live. I shall never visit you when you are old, and if people ask me how you treated me, I shall tell them the truth. That you are a hard-hearted liar.  
You think I can do without one shred of love or kindness, but I cannot live this way. You lied to Mister Pycelle and said I had a bad character, when it is you who are bad.”  
“Sansa, you are passionate, you must allow that. And children should learn to be humble!”  
Sansa fixed her Aunt with a stern look. “Send me away to school, Mrs Arryn. Any place would be better than this house of liars” and she stormed out, back to her room.

Three days later, Shae helped Sansa gather her things and loaded them onto the carriage.  
“I daresay I’ll miss you, Miss Stark" she mused as she held Sansa at arm’s length.  
“And I you, Shae.” Sansa replied, smiling back.  
“Ah, so you’ve come to love me after all!” Shae grinned.  
“I do love you, Shae, though you dislike me.” Sansa looked slightly glum.  
“I do not dislike you, Sansa. In fact, I prefer you to the young Master. Do not forget that someone loves you, child.”  
Sansa smiled wider, her heart singing. She was loved by at least one person in the world, and she was away to school shortly. Away from Vale Manor and it’s cold mistress.  
“Goodbye, Shae. I shall write to you!” Sansa waved as she climbed the carriage and set off for her new life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's life at school begins...

Sansa looked up at the sign for Quiet Isle Home for Young Ladies, both excited and scared. The old, grey stone walls seemed to loom overhead, and chanting of prayers could be heard from the inside. While she did not thrill at the thought of being made to say prayers every day, she considered it a small price to pay for her freedom from the Arryn Estate.  
An older woman in a simple dress opened the door to the great house as the carriage drove away. She urged Sansa inside, and ushered her into a cozy looking room, with a fire blazing in the hearth warming the space exponentially compared the the chilly entrance hall.  
“Wait here, lass,”the old woman said kindly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.  
Several minutes later, a loud bell rang, and the chanting stopped, only to start again in a different meter. As Sansa listened curiously, the door opened and a comely woman with blonde hair and a green dress glided into the room.  
“Miss Sansa Stark?” She asked in a voice like calm water.  
Sansa rose and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”  
“My, you look road-worn. And I daresay hungry as well.” She said with a smile.  
Sansa met her with a timid smile of her own.   
“Let Miss Stark have supper before bed,” The pretty lady said to a maid that had just entered the room with a tray stocked with a teapot and delicate little white china cups.  
The blonde lady looked Sansa over pensively.  
“My dear, is this your first time away from your parents?”  
“I have no parents, ma’am.” Sansa stated matter-of-factly.  
The older woman’s smile dropped. “How long have they been gone, dear?”  
“Since I was a babe,” Sansa replied.  
“And can you read? Sew?”   
“Reasonably well, ma’am.”  
“I am Miss Myranda Royce, the headmistress here at Quiet Isle school. I am pleased to make your acquaintance and hope that you will be a good girl while you are with us.”  
She poured herself a cup of tea and rang for a serving maid, who entered promptly with a curtsy.  
“Take Miss Stark to bed, after she has had supper.” Miss Rocye said as she turned to a large desk in the room to attend to some papers.

Sansa was ushered into a narrow hallway after she had eaten supper alone in a large common room, filled with benches and tables, chairs arranged in large circles, with two enormous fireplaces on each side of the room. Great wooden beams stretched across the ceiling and simple chandeliers filled with blazing candles hung from the rafters.  
A bell sounded as Sansa followed the maid into another, larger hallway, and soon, she could see a good number of girls dressed in simple black and white dresses file quietly down the hallway, and up some stairs at the end.  
“That,” the maid said looking over her shoulder at Sansa as they walked, “is the bedtime bell. You will learn to live by the bell. We sound it to wake you in the morning and when it is time for bed, when you eat or it’s time for prayers. We’ve no time for idle hands and wandering thoughts here, as you’ll soon learn.”  
Sansa nodded silently as the maid led her to a small coat room, where she took Sansa’s large traveling coat and handed her a black dress with a simple white pinafore.   
“Your new clothes miss. Come now, off to bed with you.”

Sansa woke with a start as she was shaken roughly the next morning. She dimly registered someone calling her name, and as she opened her eyes, she saw a sour looking maid standing above her, and heard the sound of the many other girls in the hall chattering as they dressed.  
“Miss Stark, did you not hear the bell? Get up! And quickly, child. You have five minutes before morning prayers.” With that, the maid swept away, calling out to some other girls in the room, scolding them.  
Sansa jumped out of bed and got dressed and washed up as quickly as she could, and was one of the last girls in line for prayers that morning.  
She didn’t know where to go, but just followed the others back to the great hall she had eaten in the night before, where each girl took a seat and began to recite the morning prayers after the Septa had nodded her approval.   
She did not know the words to the prayers, as they were rarely recited back at Vale Manor, so she just mumbled along with the other girls, trying her best to repeat what was said, but ended up tripping over her words more times than not.  
After prayers, the breakfast bell rang, and the girls all started chattering excitedly as they made their way over to the long tables in the far left of the great room. They began to divide into little groups and talked amongst themselves as they sat and waited on breakfast.  
Sansa took the end of the bench at one of the tables to the back, her stomach eager for food.  
When the simple meal was served, the bell rang again and a Septa commanded the girls to rise and give thanks for the meal.  
After the blessing was said, the girls were bid sit down.  
As each girl dug into the porridge in front of them, slowly, moans and groans of protest were heard. Some girls started to gag and protest that cattle were fed better.   
Sansa even heard one girl at her table say she wanted to feed it to Mister Pycelle, which Sansa had a hard time not laughing at.  
But the Septa was not laughing as she called for silence.  
“Ladies,” She said sternly, “The next girl who wishes ill of our kind benefactor will be severely punished. This food is his gift to us all.”  
As she glared around the silent room, one by one, the girls began to push their bowls away, signalling that they would not eat the meal.  
The Septa fumed. “Very well. You will go hungry until lunch, then.”  
Sansa’s stomach growled as she thought of how far away lunch could be, but she refused to eat the disgusting morning meal, so she sighed and pushed her bowl to the center of the table as well.

Not long after the disastrous breakfast, Miss Royce glided gracefully into the large room.   
Everyone stood quickly in respect, but Miss Royce waved a hand, and they all sat quietly.  
“My dears, it has come to my attention that this morning, you could not eat the breakfast that was served to you. I know you must all be hungry, and you require food to learn your studies well. Therefore, I have ordered bread and cheese be served-”  
She was cut off by the excited clamoring of her charges, to which the head Septa yelled sharply for silence.  
“As I was saying, bread and cheese will be served. Please, enjoy your breakfast.”  
With that, Miss Royce rang a small bell, and maids filed into the room carrying trays of bread and cheese to each table.  
“Now then. obey your teachers, young ladies.” Miss Royce said as she sat down, letting breakfast officially begin.

Lessons followed breakfast, and Sansa was placed in a group of girls her own age. There were no introductions, save for the teacher, before lessons began. Sansa was handed a primer and was to read along with the group, and to listen as the girls answered queries posed by the teacher.  
Sansa was a bit lost in all of this. She felt thrown right into a race in the middle of the track, with no clue how to get where she was supposed to go.  
Nevertheless, she did her best to read along with everyone else.  
Eventually, she caught up, and another class began. And so it was for quite some time, a class, then switch to another table for a different class, and then again, when Miss Royce once more entered the room and rang the bell.  
“To the garden, children.” She called out.  
Each girl filed excitedly to the coat room to put on their cold weather cloaks, and then it was off to the garden.  
Girls smaller and younger than Sansa practically ran into the large cultivated space.  
In the spring, Sansa supposed, vegetables would grow in the rows of dirt that she saw.  
As girls began to splinter off into little groups of friends and mill about the garden, Sansa noticed a lone girl sitting on a bench reading. She was both curious and excited, as she shared this girl’s love of books.   
Perhaps she could become friends with this girl?  
Nervously, Sansa approached.  
“What is your book about?”   
The girl looked up at her silently and handed Sansa the book.  
Sansa flipped through the pages, dismayed.  
“Why, there are no pictures! And the subject is so boring! I prefer stories and exciting tales, with lots of pictures.”  
Again, the other girl said nothing as she took her book back.  
“What of the school? Why do they feed us so poorly?” Sansa asked.  
Finally, the other girl spoke.  
“It is a charity school, in part. You and I are charity children.”  
“How long have you been here?” Sansa inquired.  
“Two years.” The answer was short, though not unkind.  
“Do you have any family?” Sansa was curious now.  
“My mother passed away, and my father remarried and did not want me.” She looked back at her book as a teacher passed by.  
Sansa continued to pepper her with questions until the older girl looked back up at her, squinting slightly. “You ask far too many questions. I’d like to read.”

Later that same week, Sansa witnessed the most unpopular teacher, Miss Miller, and saw why she was so loathed by most girls.  
The girl with the book, whom Sansa had formed a bit of a friendship with, was named Jeyne Poole.  
Miss Miller asked her class various questions, and when no one could answer, she called upon Jeyne, who gave her the right answer.  
Miss Miller believed she had been prompted, for, as she put it, ‘there was no chance of you telling the truth.’  
Sansa frowned, but continued to sew as her teacher had shown her.  
She did not see the exchange that happened, but everyone heard the swift crack of a switch hitting flesh.   
Sansa’s head shot up, only to see Miss Miller switching Jeyne’s hand as hard as she could.  
Tears threatened to well in her eyes, and she fumed so much that, as she sewed, she accidentally sewed her teacher’s shawl into her embroidery.  
I should like to take that switch and beat her with it, Sansa thought, and later told Jeyne the very same thing during the free hour before evening class.  
“You would do no such thing,” Jeyne said. “And besides, the Mother calls us to be gentle, not to retaliate when we are wronged, but to forgive.”  
“But if someone hurts you, you should hurt them back, very hard.” Sansa protested. “It’s only fair.”  
Jeyne shook her head. “The Mother also teaches us to love those who stand against us.”  
“Love them?” Sansa asked incredulously. “That would mean I would have to love and forgive Mrs Arryn and Robert, and that I cannot do.”  
Jeyne started to ask more about her past, but the evening bell sounded, and the girls stood and made their way quickly to the last few classes of the day.

A month passed, and then two, and then three. There were no new students, and Sansa threw herself into her studies.  
Miss Royce had called her into her office to praise her paintings and her effort in some other classes, and to inform Sansa that she was to learn High Valeryian, as a reward for doing so well.  
Sansa felt on top of the world, until the day Mister Pycelle came to visit.  
Everyone stood as the pinched looking man entered the room and regarded the tables with hawk-like eyes.   
His attention was drawn to a student being admonished, and as he passed by, Sansa lowered her head, trying to make herself as small as possible.  
Thankfully, something else caught his attention, though sadly, it was to some of the older girls that his wrath was turned. He found their hair to be too styled, too pretty, to be at such a humble school. Accusing the girls of not following the example of the Crone, he ordered that their hair be cut off if it was styled vainly.  
Sansa cowered inwardly, hoping he would not notice her when he came to inspect her class, but it was not to be.  
She felt a hand on her head, forcing her to look up.  
Mister Pycelle sneered down at her.  
He addressed the entire class, and made Sansa stand upon a stool in front of everyone, telling them of the sins of the wicked.  
“I tell you, avoid this child’s company. Shun her. Teachers, do not let her go easily, but punish her, for this girl, this wicked, unhappy, ungrateful girl, shunned the kindness of her benefactress and terrorized her young one-this girl is a liar!”  
Sansa felt tears well up in her eyes, but she did not let herself cry in front of Mister Pycelle.  
“Let her remain there, for the rest of the day. Let no one speak to her.” He spat as he swept out of the room, Miss Royce in tow, eager to discuss finances.  
Many girls looked at Sansa with pity, and when she saw the sadness and regret in their eyes, she began to weep silently.  
She did not stop as she was finally let off of the stool after evening class had ended, and did not stop as she was helped up the stairs, nor when she and Jeyne sat on her bed.  
Jeyne stroked her shoulder and comforted her, but Sansa felt she had to defend herself.  
“Don’t believe him, Jeyne!” She implored. “You know what I told you, how I came to be there. It’s all true, and I’m not a liar!”  
Jeyne calmed her, assuring Sansa that Pycelle was loathed by the students here, and that none would take him seriously, save Miss Miller.  
Her words rang true, for the next day, Sansa was watched contemptuously by Miss Miller, and during classes, she picked on Sansa as much as she could.  
During free hour that day, Miss Royce called Sansa into her office, and Jeyne too.   
She sat both girls down and very seriously addressed Sansa.  
“Concerning yesterday-”  
“Oh please,” Sansa cried, “I’m not a liar! I’m not! It was Robert, he’s the liar, and-”  
“Silence, please, Miss Stark. Rest assured that no one in this room believes these accusations about you. I believe you told Miss Poole here your story? And she relayed this information to me. Now, is there anyone who could vouch for you?”  
Sansa thought for a while, before remembering.  
“Shae! Shae could tell you how they treated me there!”   
“Who is Shae?” Miss Royce asked.  
“A maid of my Aunt’s. She was my only friend there.”   
Miss Royce frowned. “Though the word of a maid may not be seen as reputable, I will write to her to verify your account of the story. There is a chance that some teachers will not believe it, but her testimony should be exoneration enough.”  
Sansa grinned, and thanked both Miss Royce and Jeyne, who smiled back at her, and then coughed.  
Miss Royce turned her attention to Jeyne, asking her questions about her health, and Sansa thought back to Vale Manor, remembering the awful treatment there, and how fitting it would be, how just, that Shae be the one to clear her name.  
Miss Royce called for tea to be brought, and surprised both girls with delicate little cakes for them both along with tea, praising them both for doing so well in classes.  
Miss Royce promised to write to Shae promptly, and Sansa was delighted when, a week later, a response came.  
In front of the whole school, Miss Royce announced that the charges against Miss Stark were cleared by a reputable source, and that she was not to be excluded from any activities on account of false allegations.  
Girls smiled and clapped for her, genuinely looking happy, and Sansa smiled broadly.  
Her teachers one by one congratulated her on her work in class, and expressed thanks that their rising star pupil was cleared.  
All except Miss Miller, who looked at Miss Royce with suspicion.  
“How fortunate you are, girl, to have such a fierce protector.” She said slowly, almost menacingly.  
Miss Royce bade everyone return to their studies, and smiled at Sansa.  
“Well my dear, do you want to leave us now?”  
Sansa shook her head. “I would not leave Quiet Isle for all the freedom and richness in Vale Manor. For here, I have friends.”

Time passed once more, and soon, a fever swept through the land, afflicting all in it’s path.  
The doctors said it was typhus, and, though they were sure that Quiet Isle was isolated enough not to be in harm’s way, the sickness quickly spread there thanks to a list of injustices such as overcrowding and scarce food.  
Many girls were shipped off to their families only to die, while those who stayed at the school were in constant fear of the sickness claiming them next.  
Sansa was scared, but not just for herself. Jeyne’s cough had gotten worse and worse, until, one day, she was not seen in the garden, or during classes.  
A doctor had been visiting that day, and Sansa ran up to him, curtsied and frantically asked him where Miss Poole was.  
“Miss Poole?” The doctor looked hesitant.  
“She wasn’t seen by anyone today sir. They have her in the sickroom.”  
“My child, I’m afraid your friend Jeyne has taken a turn for the worse.” the doctor lamented.  
“You are a faithful child. Pray to the Seven to ease her journey. She is not long for this world, may the Stranger take her swiftly and painlessly. For her affliction is not typhus, but consumption. No child should be made to struggle through such an awful illness.”  
“Is there any way I can help?” Sansa was horrified. She had known Jeyne had a condition, but this…  
“There is only one thing you can do, child.” The doctor said as he put on his hat.  
“Pray.”

Not long after that fateful visit, Jeyne succumbed to her illness. Sansa was distraught, and looked to Miss Royce for comfort. Together, the two formed a strong friendship.  
As she grew, Sansa’s one and only close friend was Miss Royce. There were other girls she was friends with, but her confidant and dearest friend was Miss Royce, who watched Sansa grow up into a fine young lady with pride.  
The school had become a proper institution as Sansa grew, no longer plagued by over crowding or low food stores. Public outcry over the typhus incident had forced Mister Pycelle to work with a committee that governed the school, though how he had kept his position through all the cruel practices he had insisted upon, Sansa was not sure.  
Sansa spent six more years there as a student, and, when she turned 17, Miss Royce surprised her by asking her to remain at the school and teach.   
And so, she did. Sansa stayed for 4 more years as a teacher, and all the while she remained fast friends with Miss Royce, who had begun romancing a fine gentleman.  
Soon after her 21st birthday, Sansa was delighted to be maid of honor at Miss Royce’s wedding. It was a humble affair, but beautiful nonetheless.  
With Miss Royce gone, Sansa quickly grew tired of teaching, though normally she loved her position. She found herself growing restless and pondering on how to improve her situation, how a person changes.  
One could ask friends, but Sansa had no friends left at Quiet Isle, save for Miss Royce, who had left the school for good shortly before the wedding.  
No, it was best to find another way. Ruminating over the possibilities one day, Sansa noticed a newspaper sitting on a nearby desk in the teachers’ room.  
An idea struck her, and she rushed to her desk and began to write:  
Consider for employment, one young woman, accustomed to teaching, wishing to find a suitable situation in a household with children under 14. Please send all inquiries to S.S, care of Quiet Isle School for Young Ladies.  
As she sealed the letter, Sansa grinned.  
This was the start of a new adventure, and one she was eager to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all of you who commented, left kudos and read chapter one! I'm so excited to bring you more of this story!  
> Chapter 3 will be uploaded around July 11 or 12 :)   
> Many thanks to my lovely beta, Kat, who provides such excellent support!   
> She can be found under the name TheLostSelf here on a03


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa comes to stay at her new home...

The day was brisk as Sansa approached Quiet Isle, excitement thrumming through here as she ran her fingers over the vellum in her pocket once more. Finally, after weeks of waiting, a letter had come!  
One of the maids, a young woman named Barbara, swiftly opened the door as she saw Sansa draw near.  
“Good afternoon, Miss Stark,” She greeted as Sansa stepped inside.  
“Shall I take your cloak, Miss?”  
Sansa smiled, “No thank you, I’ll keep it for now. Tell me, is the teacher’s’ room empty?”  
“No, ma’am, I think Mrs. Stone is in there now.  
Barbara replied with a curtsy.  
“Thank you, dear,” Sansa swept into the teachers’ room, only to be greeted by Mrs. Mya Stone.  
“Ah, Miss Stark, you’ve returned. I was beginning to wonder.”  
“My apologies, Mrs. Stone,” Sansa said as she took off her cloak and seated herself by the fire.  
“I dare say, my dear, that these outings of yours are creating much question in my mind. In my short time here, you have asked frequently to be dismissed so that you may go the Seven know where, day after day after day.”  
Sansa looked towards the new headmistress.  
“I promise, it shall not happen again. I’m sorry for any trouble I have caused.”  
“Trouble is not quite the word, Miss Stark. I simply meant that when one is told to expect support from one’s teachers, it is perplexing to be asked to do without that support.”  
Mrs. Stone stood, smiling.  
“But no matter. I have faith in your abilities, Miss Stark. Please remember it is your turn to lead evening studies.”  
“Of course!” Sansa nodded. “And after, I shall lead the girls in their nightly prayers.”  
“Just mind that they do not make you late for dinner.” And with that, Mrs. Stone bowed her head and took her leave, leaving Sansa alone in the room.  
At last! she thought as she fumbled in her cloak for the letter.  
She ripped it open with urgency, and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she read:  
If S.S can provide suitable references, there is a situation to be had at Clegane Manor. There is one child, and the salary will be 30 gold per annum. Please direct all replies to Old Nan at Clegane Manor, in Westerlands.

Sansa had decided to wait to approach Mrs. Stone about the letter, but, three days later, she could not wait any longer.  
As she was leaving the teacher’s’ room, she practically ran to catch up with the busy headmistress.  
“Mrs. Stone!”Sansa called. “Might I have a word with you?”  
“Of course my dear. But I am very busy, so please, be urgent.” Mrs. Stone said as she turned to face her young teacher.  
“I have been offered a new situation, which I would like to pursue.”Sansa tried her best not to let her excitement show.  
“You wish to leave Quiet Isle?” Mrs. Stone asked, taken aback.  
“I have grown restless for change, and though I love it here, something calls to me to travel. And should I be accepted, this situation would pay double what I make here. I would like to request a reference from you.” Sansa met her superior’s eyes, begging her inwardly to say yes.  
“I shall be sad to see you go, Miss Stark. You are a fine teacher. But I see that you are in earnest. Very well. References can be provided for you. And I assume you would want me to approach Mister Pycelle about this potential situation as well?” Mrs. Stone inquired.  
Sansa nodded.  
“You do realize that I shall have to bring this matter up to the committee as well. It will be up to them if you are to be released, and could take quite some time.” Mrs. Stone raised an eyebrow, questioning if Sansa understood.  
“Of course, ma’am. I shall write to my potential employers promptly and inform them that I shall wait for the permission of the committee.”  
“Very well, Miss Stark. Now, if there is nothinhg else, please excuse me, I have class to attend to.”

It was perhaps three weeks later, the day of her departure, when Sansa heard a knock on her door.  
She rose to answer it, to see Barbara, the maid, standing there.  
“Beg pardon, miss, but there’s someone here to see you”  
“Oh, that will be the coachman! Remember, he is to take my bag to the inn, and I shall catch a coach from there in the morning.” Sansa was a bit surprised, as she had not expected the coachman this early.  
“Oh no, Miss. This is a lady here to see you,”  
Sansa looked confused, but allowed Barbara to lead her down the stairs.  
There, waiting at the bottom for her, was Shae, dressed in a simple blue dress and a feathered hat.  
“Shae!” Sansa practically flew down the remaining steps, and launched herself into Shae’s arms, and the two laughed and hugged tightly.  
Shae held Sansa at arms’ length and looked over her.  
“My, but you’ve grown, Sansa! Look how tall you are!” She exclaimed.  
“And you’ve grown more beautiful, Shae. Barbara, this is Shae, an old friend from Vale Manor. The only friend I had there, the only one who was kind to me.” Sansa smiled as the two women gave each other small curtsies.  
“I’ll bring extra tea into the teachers’ room, Miss Stark. It’s empty now, so you go and catch up, I’ll be along shortly.” Barbara beamed a smile at the pair of women before making her way to the kitchen.  
“Come, Shae, follow me,”Sansa took her friend’s hand and led her into the cozy teacher’s room.  
“Married life suits you, Shae,” Sansa smiled as the two sat in front of the fireplace.  
“Why thank you, Sansa. You’d be surprised how tiring it is, what with two young children. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. And Tyrion is such a lovely man.” Shae blushed.  
“Are you still at Vale Manor?” Sansa couldn’t help but ask.  
“Oh, yes, miss. The old porter moved out, so my family and I have taken the carriage house. It’s quite the cozy place, and the children love it.”  
Shae squinted at Sansa a bit.  
“You’ve grown so tall, but not too portly, dear. You always were a beautiful child, and slender too. I’m glad to see you grow into such a fine lady. Tell me, can you speak High Valeryian? Or play piano?”  
“Oh, yes, of course! Shall I play for you?”Sansa rose and made her way to the small piano in the room.  
“Oh, please, that would be lovely!” Shae clapped her hands.  
Sansa sat and played Shae a short piece, a happy tune, and Shae hummed along.  
“That’s wonderful, Sansa! What else can you do?Can you draw?””  
Sansa blushed and smiled. “Yes. In fact, that’s one of my drawings above the fireplace!”  
Shae looked at it, agape. “How beautiful, Sansa! I always said you could surpass that wretched boy, and so help you, you have!”  
Sansa returned to the chair across from Shae and her mood sombered. “Shae, did my aunt send you?”  
“Oh, gods, no. But she did receive a letter saying you were to be off, so I came as quickly as I could. Wanted to see you off before you went trotting off across the countryside.  
But I suppose I should tell you about your family, now. Mr Robert is a great disappointment. He went away to study law, but failed miserably, and now is ruining his health with bad living. Mrs. Arryn is looking well enough, but she’s breaking her heart with worry over Mr Robert..”  
Sansa frowned. “Let’s talk about ourselves, Shae. After all, my family never did care to know my own well being.”  
Shae looked taken aback.  
“Never?” she asked. “Did missus not write to you about the man?”  
“What man?” Sansa asked.  
“Well. Do you remember how your aunt used to harp on about how poor and despicable your parents were? Well, I never believed it, for they were as much gentry as the Arryns were.  
It was about, oh, seven years ago now,  
A Mr Stark came to Vale Manor asking to see you! I’m shocked that the missus has not written to you about it!” Shae looked indignant.  
“She has never written to me,” Sansa said glumly, now wondering who this mysterious Mr Stark could be.  
“Mrs Arryn told him you were going to school some 50 miles off, and he was quite disappointed, for he was sailing away across the sea a day or two later. My Tyrion thinks he’s a wine merchant, though the missus was quite rude and called him a sneaking tradesman. I thought he was quite the gentleman, and ignored her.”  
Sansa smiled at Shae’s forwardness. “Did he say where he was going?”  
“Oh, the place that they make the wine. Oh, I cannot remember the name quite. Very famous for the reds, miss.”  
Sansa thought for a minute. “Dorne?”  
“Yes, the very same!” Shae clapped her hands.  
“Sansa, I cannot stay long. A wagoner is heading this way to take me back.”  
Sansa jumped to her feet and took Shae’s hand.  
“Not before you’ve had a good meal and some rest! The tea should be ready by now, come, let’s go to the kitchen, and we shall talk until your departure. I have so much to tell you!”

It was nearing sunset the next day when Sansa caught the first glimpse of her new home. It was an old, imposing manor, built of pale grey stone. It rose out of magnificent looking gardens, and trees surrounded the property, covering it in delightful looking shade.  
When the carriage finally stopped in front of the manor, Sansa was helped out by a maid, who greeted her warmly.  
“Welcome to Clegane Hall, ma’am. If you’ll follow me, the driver will take your things up to your room.”  
Sansa followed the maid into a grand looking entrance hall, covered with white marble floors and dark wood panelling. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and large paintings hung on the wall. She was so in awe of the splendor of the grand entrance, that she didn’t notice that the maid had disappeared into a doorway to her right, until the maid came back into the hall and cleared her throat.  
“Please follow me, miss” the maid said, gesturing to the doorway she had come from.  
As Sansa entered the room, a plump old woman stood up from a chair by the fireplace, and greeted her warmly.  
“Greetings, Miss Stark! Welcome to Clegane Hall. You may call me Nan. Leah,” she turned to address the maid who had entered with Sansa, “Please put the kettle on, and make sure the water is hot. Miss Stark looks positively chilled from the cold. Come my dear, you must sit and make yourself comfortable.”  
She ushered Sansa to the chair she had just risen from, and Sansa protested, but Nan would have none of it, and let the cold younger woman sit closest to the fire.  
“I’m glad to arrive before nightfall,” Sansa said as she was handed a cup of tea. “I was looking forward to meeting my pupil tonight. Tell me, how old is Miss Clegane?”  
“Miss Clegane?” Old Nan blinked, confused.  
“Yes. The child I am to teach.” Sansa was puzzled.  
“Oh, dearie me, you mean miss Valens!”  
“Valens?”Sansa asked, even more puzzled.  
“Myrcella Valens is your charge.”  
“Then, she is not your daughter?” Sansa inquired.  
“Oh, heavens, no. I have no relations” old Nan sipped her tea slowly. “I must say, I am glad you are come. Clegane Hall is a fine house, but in the cold and quiet seasons, it becomes lonely here. I am delighted to have someone new to talk to. Leah, the maid, is nice enough, and John, the driver and his wife are very kind, but when the night grows dark, there is no one to entertain an old lady.”  
Sansa chuckled, quite liking how Old Nan talked. She seemed a kind, albeit talkative woman.  
Leah returned with a tray of bread and cheese and butter to go with the tea, and Old Nan bade Sansa eat, lest she waste away.  
“And that way, you may listen to an old woman prattle on and entertain you while you eat,” Old Nan chuckled.

“I have taken the liberty of having your things placed in the small apartments next to my own,” Nan said as the pair climbed the stairs later that evening. “I thought you would prefer it to the larger, draftier chambers towards the front of the Hall. They do have finer furniture, but I have always found the smaller rooms to be more comforting.”  
She showed Sansa a good, solid wooden door, and pushed it open.  
“Here you are, dear.”  
Sansa stepped inside to find a large four poster bed, with white, lacey drapes that were tied to each post. White lace curtains hung in a window seat, which was furnished with plush blue velvet pillows. A blue and grey rug lay on the floor near a fireplace in the corner, and a large sitting area was placed opposite of the bed. A wardrobe was open and her trunk of possessions was placed snugly inside, with all of her clothes hanging neatly inside of the wardrobe.  
It was far more beautiful than any room Sansa had ever seen.  
“Oh, Nan, thank you so much for your kindness! This is a beautiful room!” Sansa wanted to hug the old woman.  
“Kindness? Nonsense, my dear. It is I who is grateful to you for coming to be with us. For now I have someone to speak to!” She made to step towards a door further down the hall. “Goodnight, my dear. Sleep well.”  
Sansa closed the door to her room. Her room. She had never had a room to herself before, save for the small attic space back at Vale Manor, and it was nowhere near as beautiful as this one was.  
As she disrobed and climbed onto the soft mattress, under the warm blankets, she could have sworn that she heard the sound of a woman’s laughter.  
Perhaps it was Old Nan, reading a letter, or a book.  
Whatever the sound, Sansa did not have long to ponder its source, for she was soon asleep.

The next morning, Sansa rose just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, and made her way downstairs, intent on an early morning stroll in the garden. As she made her way down, she heard that same strange woman’s laugh as she had heard the night before. She paused, looking around, but saw no one in the halls.  
She thought it odd, but mentally shrugged it off and continued outside, where she took her time in exploring the gardens.  
A short time had passed before Sansa returned to the entrance hall, where she found Old Nan waiting on her.  
“Good morning, my dear!” the elderly woman greeted. “I see you are an early riser! Have you enjoyed yourself?”  
Sansa smiled widely at her new employer. “Oh, yes, ma’am, I have.”  
“Very good, child. Come, I have tea waiting for us in my rooms.”  
The two women made their way into the sitting room, where a tea tray had already been waiting for them. As Sansa sat, Old Nan poured her a cup, and handed it to her.  
“I do believe the tea is just right, my dear. Leah makes a wonderful pot. Are you enjoying Clegane Hall?”  
Sansa swallowed her tea. “Oh yes, it is beautiful.”  
“Indeed, it is a pretty place,” Nan agreed as she sat down with her own cup. “Though I fear it will not be for long, should the master not come home to take care of it soon.”  
Sansa was perplexed. “The master? Then Clegane Hall does not belong to you?”  
“To me!” Old Nan laughed, “Oh my, heavens, no! I am merely the housekeeper. The manager of sorts. I am distantly related to the master, it’s true, but I never presume upon the connection.”  
“Who is the master?” Sansa could not help her curious nature.  
“Master Sandor Clegane. The house is named after his family.”  
“And my pupil?” Sansa stirred some milk into her tea.  
“Ah, Myrcella. She is the master’s ward. Come, I will introduce you to her. She is sure to be awake by now.”  
The two women finished their tea and left the room, only to be greeted by the sound of a young child speaking Valeriyan.  
“Ah, she is awake!” Nan exclaimed as a young blonde girl in a green dress came running down the stairs, with a woman chasing after her.  
“Myrcella, this is your new teacher, Miss Sansa Stark.” Nan introduced the two, and Myrcella curtsied, followed by her maid.  
“This is Sophie, Myrcella’s maid. They are both from the continent, and both very clever, but for some reason, though she speaks the common tongue well, she refuses to use anything but Valeriyan.” Nan looked rather pointedly at Myrcella.  
Sansa smiled and began to address the child in her native tongue, introducing herself and asking how the young child was today.  
Myrcella clapped her hands in joy as she heard Sansa speak, and the two began to share a short conversation together, before Sansa switched back to common, lest Nan be left out.  
“She is indeed a sharp child, Nan. I shall be very pleased to instruct her!”  
“Perhaps she will open up to you in ways that she has not with Sophie and I. You might ask her about her parents.” Nan suggested.  
Sansa asked Myrcella in her native tongue, but told her to reply in common.  
“My mother, the Stranger took her. I lived with orphans and beggars until Mister Clegane found me. I had known him from when Mama was alive. He would bring me many presents.”  
Myrcella looked sad. “But now, he has left me all alone, and does not visit me.”  
“He is away on business, child!” Nan reproached. “He will return soon enough, and when he does, I am sure he will bring you another present  
“Now, Miss Stark, if you would follow me, I will show you to the schoolroom.”

The next day, after morning classes were conducted, Sansa knocked on Nan’s door.  
“Come in, dear,” the older woman replied.  
Sansa entered and Nan did not take her eyes off of her sewing.  
“Your classes are over for this morning, I presume?”  
“Oh yes. Myrcella did quite well. And the school room is wonderfully furnished! I have everything I could ever need,” Sansa said as she set some books down on a table, before turning to sit with Nan on the window seat.  
“Ah, I never leave the rooms untidied or anything but well stocked. Though his visits are rare, the master drops in unexpectedly, so he will never catch me off guard. This house will be spic and span.” Nan laughed.  
“Nan,” Sansa could not help but feel curious about her mysterious employer, “What is the master like? Is he peculiar? What is his character like?”  
“Oh, he is a kind man, my dear. Stoic, but kind. He is a good landlord and master, and is well liked in these parts.” Nan stated matter-of-factly.  
“Yes, but what of his character?” Sansa pressed. “Do you like him?”  
“Oh, he is well respected. His family has owned the lands here for time immemorial.” Nan did not seem to understand what Sansa was asking.  
“But do you like him?” Again she pressed.  
“I have no cause but to like him, my dear. He is a gentleman. As far as his character, well. He has a gentleman’s tastes and habits, and some are quite peculiar. But I never ask questions.” Nan smiled.  
“Is that all you know of him?” Sansa was taken aback. Surely, Nan knew more than she would admit.  
“He is peculiar, I suppose. Always out travelling. He has seen a great deal of the world, one would suppose. He is clever, though I have never had much conversation with him.”  
“In what way is he peculiar?” Sansa asked.  
“It...is hard to describe,”Nan stopped her sewing to ponder for a moment. “When you talk to him, you cannot tell if he is always in jest or in earnest. Whether he is pleased, or to the contrary. One does not thoroughly understand him. At least, I do not. But he is a very good master.”  
“And now,” Nan said as she rose. “I have promised to show you around the house.”

As the ladies explored the house, Sansa was quite impressed with how immaculate the rooms were. How grand and beautiful. It would seem that Mister Clegane would not catch Old Nan napping on the job, for every room was tidy and ready for use.  
The two climbed up to the roof on Sansa’s insistence, though Nan looked quite uncomfortable with the idea.  
But Sansa persuaded her to go anyway, and to see the gardens from the roof, which she mused would be a grand sight.  
It was, indeed. She would’ve stayed up on the roof longer, but for Nan, who was fidgeting and seemed restless up there.  
Sansa cut her visit to the roof short, and as the two made their way back down the stairs, Nan warned her against going back up, for the wind was far too strong on the roof, and would catch you by surprise.  
“What caught me by surprise was your ghost,” Sansa joked.  
“Ghost? Whatever do you mean, child?” Nan laughed.  
“I heard a woman laugh up here last night.”  
“Oh, probably Grace and Leah. They sew up here and get too loud at times.” Nan waved her hand.  
Just then, another laugh rang out. Sansa could not place it, but it sounded….off. Wrong in some way.  
“Grace?” Nan called.  
There was no answer.  
“Grace!”  
An older, grey headed woman poked her head out of a door to the left.  
“Too much noise, my dear. Remember instructions.” Nan said firmly.  
The woman called Grace nodded and retreated in the room, shutting the door.  
“She is a good woman. A bit too fond of port, perhaps, but a hard worker.” Nan said as they made their way back downstairs.

Three months passed, and Sansa had not heeded the warning to stay off of the roof. Now that she had seen the wonderful view from atop Clegane Hall, she longed for more.  
It was a quiet spot to sit and ponder her life.  
Her restlessness grew as the days went by, and she longed for action, for adventure, for something. Not that she was ungrateful with her tranquil life, oh no. She had a wonderful pupil, who, though was somewhat spoiled, was also quite sharp, and enjoyed being taught.  
Life was wonderful, but yet Sansa could not shake off the feeling of emptiness, as if something was missing.  
One chilly spring day, as she made her way back down from the roof, as she was walking down the narrow upper hallway, she heard the laughter of Grace ring out once more. It sounded frantic, deranged.  
Sansa froze at the sound, and jumped as the door to her left opened and Grace stepped out, a tankard in hand.  
“What is wrong, Miss Grace?” Sansa asked warily. “Are you ill?”  
Grace looked at her with beady eyes for a second, before downing the rest of what was in the tankard.  
“Nothing this won’t fix, ma’am.” She said with a grin.  
Sansa tried not to wrinkle her nose, for Grace smelled strongly of alcohol.

Soon after, Sansa decided that today was a day for an outing. She had a letter from Old Nan that needed to be posted, so she donned her bonnet and travelling cloak and made her way down the stairs.  
She was met by Leah, who was carrying firewood upstairs.  
“Oh, Miss, you aren’t going out are you?” Leah was shocked. “It’s terrible cold!”  
“Yes, I am. Nan has a letter to be posted, so I am just taking a walk into town” Sansa smiled.  
“Oh, but Miss Stark! It’s two miles to town, and it will be dark soon!” Leah protested.  
Sansa laughed kindly. “I do not mind walking, and I enjoy the dark.”  
With that, she was out the door.  
It was a wonderful walk, Sansa decided. IT was indeed cold and dark, but she was in good spirits, and the cold air in her lungs made her feel alive.  
On her way back to the Hall, she was rounding a curve in the road, she heard a sharp bark, and was so engrossed watching a huge black hound pass her by, that somehow she missed hearing the horse and its rider come racing down the road.  
Sansa finally saw the horse, and went to step out of it’s way, but the rider had already pulled on the reins, trying to stop. Sansa’s sudden movement had startled the great black horse, and it reared, throwing it’s rider to the ground before trotting a ways off from the road.  
“Bugger it,” the rider gasped in a gravelly voice filled with pain.  
Sansa ran to his side.  
“Sir, are you hurt? Can I help you?”  
“Stand aside!” The man snapped brusquely.  
A masculine groan escaped his mouth as he stood.  
“I can fetch help, sir,” Sansa offered.  
“I’ve no broken bones, girl. It’s only a sprain.” The man stood to his full height with difficulty. He was huge. Sansa was shocked at how large he was; well over 6 feet. And broad too, as if he had seen many battles.  
“I-I shall stay until you are able to mount your horse.” Sansa fidgeted nervously, suddenly feeling intimidated by the strange man’s size.  
He looked at her with a sharp gaze. “You should be at home, girl. Where do you come from?”  
“Clegane Hall, sir. I just posted a letter and was on my way back.”  
“Clegane Hall?” the man raised an eyebrow sharply.  
“Yes, sir. I am the governess.” Sansa replied.  
“Ah, yes.” His voice was quiet, pensive. “The governess.”  
Before she had time to ask what he meant, the large man gestured to Sansa.  
“Come here, girl.” She stepped towards him and he took her shoulder, turning her and wrapping his arm around her shoulder, leaning on her and favoring his left leg.  
“Excuse me,” He growled. “But I’m compelled to make you of some use.”  
Together, they approached the great black horse.  
“Stranger,” the man soothed the beast as he drew closer.  
Sansa was taken aback by the sacrilegious name, but said nothing.  
With difficulty, the man mounted the great horse with a groan of pain.  
“Move aside, girl,” He demanded, and as Sansa stepped to the side, he glared down at her.  
“Pilot!” He called, and the black hound bayed in response as the horse and rider galloped away into the darkness.

By the time Sansa returned to Clegane Hall, it was well past ten.  
As she stepped into the sitting room, she heard a growl as she closed the door, and whirled around to find a large black hound staring at her.  
“Pilot?” Sansa murmured hesitantly.  
The dog stopped growling and barked at her instead, wagging his tail. Sansa grinned and knelt down to pet the enormous animal, rubbing his ears.  
just then, the door to the sitting room burst open, and Nan swarmed inside.  
“Oh, Sansa, it’s horrible! The master is here! And he’s had a fall! He sprained his ankle! I called for Doctor Tarley, the surgeon. He cannot even stand up!”  
“Of course he can.” Came that same low, gravelly voice that Sansa had heard earlier in the night.  
As Sansa looked up, she was shocked to see who she could only assume was Mister Clegane, standing in the doorway, leaning on Doctor Tarley, a rolly polly young man.  
But what took Sansa aback was his face.  
The left side of his face was covered in wicked scars, and though his long black hair hung over the left side of his face, it could not completely obscure the damage. Sansa did not gape, but the shock in her eyes was evident, as Clegane sneered at her.  
His blue-grey eyes drilled into her, and she met them hesitantly.  
“Mister Clegane, I presume?” She asked as politely as she could, determined not to stare.  
“A brilliant deduction, Miss Stark.” The large man bit out, as if mocking her.  
With that, his gaze left hers, and he and the doctor limped past the open door together.  
Nan opened her mouth to say something, when  
Mister Clegane barked Sansa’s name.  
She stood there, frozen, until he called out again.  
Gathering up her skirts, Sansa ran towards his voice, to find him paused on the stairs, with the doctor still at his side.  
“You’ll take tea with me,” He growled. “Tomorrow. 6 pm.”  
“Yes sir.” Sansa curtsied.  
“Goodnight, Miss Stark.” Mister Clegane muttered, and then his attention turned from her to the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to Kat for her wonderful beta skills, and to all of my readers!  
> I hope you're all enjoying everything so far, and I've been so excited to finally introduce Sandor for you all!!  
> Much love,  
> -sael


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa become better acquainted with her employer..

Myrcella sat on the floor in the drawing room, enthralled with the large dog sitting on the floor.  
Mister Clegane looked down at her, no emotion showing on his face.  
“Do you like Pilot?” He asked gruffly.  
Myrcella responded excitedly in Valeryian that she loved the dog.  
Clegane was in no mood to make conversation with the young girl, which was just as well, for just then, a knock came at the door.  
“Miss Stark, sir,” Nan announced as both filed into the room.  
“Let Miss Stark be seated.” The hulking man ordered.  
Sansa sat opposite of her employer, noticing that his left side was facing her, and she briefly wondered if he had purposely done so to intimidate her.   
He made a frightening sight, his large frame slouched in a great leather chair, leg outstretched onto a matching leather ottoman. With the angle his face was at, Sansa could see nothing but the gnarled surface of his face peeking through beneath long black hair.   
“The tea is ready, sir, as you ordered.” Nan said primly as she rang a bell for Laah to bring the tea, and then made her way to her usual window seat.  
When Leah entered with the tea, Nan called Myrcella and Sansa to the table.  
“I am dreadfully sorry about your business with the estate, sir.” Nan lamented as she poured the tea. “You must have such boundless patience to go through it, and-”  
“Madam, I would like some tea.” Mister Clegane interrupted, shifting in his seat.   
Sansa wondered if this large man was accustomed to manners, for it seemed that he was loathe to use them.  
As Nan poured him his tea, she addressed Sansa. “Be a dear and pass the master his tea, Miss Stark. I fear Myrcella will spill it.”  
Sansa took the china cup and saucer from Nan and stood, walking the short distance to the seated man, and handed him the teacup, which he took in his enormous hand without so much as a ‘thank you.’ Sansa marvelled at how tiny the teacup seemed to be in his hands, but tried not to stare openly at her strange master.  
“Mister Clegane, do you have a present for me?” Myrcella asked, too impatient for tea. for Miss Stark, too?”  
Clegane’s steel grey eyes turned to Sansa.   
“Were you expecting a present, Miss Stark?” His voice did not sound like a growl, though it was not warm. “Do you like them?”  
“I hardly know, sir. I have no experience with them. They are generally thought pleasant things.” Sansa replied truthfully and honestly, but could see her employer’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.  
“Generally thought.” he repeated, not breaking his gaze from her.”And what do you think?”  
“Sir, I am a stranger. I have done nothing to earn such a gift.” Sansa again replied honestly.  
Mister Clegane scoffed. “Don’t fall back on modesty, now, little bird. Aye, that’s what you are. A little bird, chirping courtesies. I have taken some time to examine Myrcella, and have found her exceptionally taught. I can only assume this was your doing, so I ask you again: Do you like presents?”  
Sansa ignored the veiled insult, and smiled instead. “Sir, you’ve given me my present already, for praise in my pupil’s progress is reward enough.”  
“Hmph.” With that, Clegane fell silent and began to finally drink his tea.

Close to half an hour later, the room was quiet. Myrcella sat still, and Nan was closing the curtains, when Mister Clegane finally broke the silence.  
“Miss Stark. Sit by me.” He demanded.  
Sansa stood, and made her way to the chair by his side. By his left side.   
He was not so clever, she mused, for every time he sought to intimidate her, he exposed his left side. She had no doubt that this would be any different.  
“You’ve been a resident in my house for three months now.” It was not a question.  
“Yes, sir,” Sansa confirmed.  
“And you come from a charitable institution. How long were you there?”   
“Eight years as a pupil, sir, and three years as a teacher.” Sansa tried to hide her pride in the last part of her sentence.  
Clegane looked her up and down. “Eleven years,” he murmured. “You must be tenacious in life. No doubt that’s why you look as if you’re from another world. When I came upon you in the lane last night I thought you’d come out of the old songs. Who are your parents.”  
Sansa kept up admirably. “My parents are dead, sir.”  
“Do you remember them?” He asked, turning his head so that more of the good side of his face could be seen.  
“No, sir.” Sansa replied.  
“I thought not.” Clegane turned his head back away from her, displaying his scars once more.  
“So you were waiting for your folk out in that lane, eh?”  
“For whom, sir?”   
“The knights and ladies out of the old songs.” He scoffed.  
“The knights and ladies in the songs have been dead quite some time, sir. They shall never again walk the land.”   
Clegane turned to face her again. “And just who recommended you to come here, girl?”  
“I advertised, sir. And Old Nan replied to my advertisement.”  
“Oh, yes, indeed, and daily am I thankful for my choice!” Old Nan interjected.  
“Don’t bother to speak for the little bird. I shall judge her character myself” Clegane said sharply. “She began by bewitching Stranger, felling him.”  
Old Nan looked taken aback.  
Once more, Mister Clegane turned towards Sansa. “Have you seen much society, Miss Stark?”  
“No, sir” Sansa answered.  
“And have you read much?”  
“Only such books as came my way, sir.”  
Mister Clegane scoffed. “You’ve lived the life of a nun, chirping your prayers to the gods, singing your songs. I understand your institution’s benefactor is a parson of the faith, correct?”  
“Correct, sir.” Sansa met his steel grey eyes and did not flinch at his sour expression.  
“I imagine you all worshipped him. As a convent of Septas would worship the Father.” He sneered.  
“No, sir.” Sansa said, willing steel into her voice at the insult.  
“You are very cold, eh?” Clegane raised his ruined eyebrow. “What, you mean to tell me a convent full of novices do not worship their priest?”  
“I disliked Mister Pycelle.”Sansa bit out. “He was harsh. And pompous and meddling.”  
She was beginning to see much of her master’s temperament and it did not sit well with her.  
“What age were you when you were sent to Quiet Isle?” He kept looking at her with a stare that could melt iron.  
“Ten, sir.”  
“Ten. That would make you twenty-one.” Clegane smirked.  
“Yes, sir.” Sansa wondered what the smirk meant.  
“Arithmetic is useful, you see. Without it, I would have hardly guessed your age. What did they teach you at your institution? Do you play?”   
Sansa would have hardly guessed Mister Clegane to be fond of music, but she answered anyway.  
“A little, sir.”  
He scoffed. “A little. There you go again, chirping your niceties. Go on, then. Into the library with you, little bird. Take a candle. Play.”  
Sansa looked taken aback.  
“I mean ‘if you please,’ Miss Stark. I’m used to issuing commands. When I say ‘do this’ it is done. I cannot change my customs for a single new inmate.” There was an odd light in his eyes as he said this, but Sansa found Old Nan’s words to ring true, for she was not sure if Mister Clegane was joking or not.  
“Very well, sir.” She rose and made her way to the library door, picking up a candle on her way out of the drawing room.  
Sansa sat at the piano and began to play a waltz, but had hardly been playing for a full minute before Mister Clegane demanded she cease.  
Sansa sighed inwardly at the rudeness of the master and his whims, but picked up her candle and exited the library nonetheless. While she thought her skills to be adequate enough to be pleasant, clearly her employer did not agree.  
“A little, indeed.” Clegane agreed as Sansa stepped back into the room and took her seat. “Just like every other schoolgirl. Better than some, but not well.”  
Sansa gritted her teeth against the insult and sat down by Mister Clegane’s side again.  
“Myrcella showed me some drawings today, which she claimed are yours. They are on the table. Bring them.” Clegane gestured towards the table.  
Sansa was shocked, and looked at Myrcella, who hung her head as if she had been caught stealing sweets from the kitchen.  
As Sansa rose to fetch her sketchbook, she inwardly felt dismay at her private works being displayed to her employer. Would he think them too frivolous? Or give them the same harsh criticism as her musical skills?  
She retrieved her sketchbook and returned to his side, standing behind his right shoulder and looking on as he flipped through the book quickly, as if looking for something.  
“Are they entirely your doing, bird? Probably a master aided you.”  
“Certainly not, sir!” Sansa said emphatically.  
“Ah!” Clegane barked out a short laugh. “Hurt pride.”  
Sansa tried her best not to be irritated.  
“There are three in particular,” Mister Clegane murmured as he flipped through the book.   
“Ah, here.” He stopped on a page adorned with a painting of a blue sky, and an ocean below it, crashing onto rocky waves, while a dragon flew in the air. On the next page, he paused on a portrait of a young, beautiful woman with pointed ears. And lastly, a painting of a dog, amidst brambles, looking at a red bird high in its nest.  
“Where did you get these copies?” Clegane asked.  
“From my head, sir.” Sansa said proudly.  
“That same head I see on your shoulders? Does it have more of the same within, I wonder.” He glanced up at her.  
“I think so, sir. Only better, I hope.” Sansa was perplexed. What exactly was the point of all these endless questions? Suddenly she knew how Jeyne had felt all those years ago, when she herself had posed question after question.  
“Were you happy when you painted these?” Clegane’s voice sounded softer.  
“Painting these pictures was one of the most fine pleasures I’ve ever known, sir.” Sansa said, remembering the joy she had felt in each brushstroke.  
Mister Clegane snorted. “Not saying much. By your own account, your pleasures have been few.”  
Sansa remained quiet as he continued to stare at the paintings.   
“You’ve not enough skill, not enough of the artist’s science. But, for a schoolgirl, your paintings are...peculiar.” His voice sounded quiet, pensive.  
“Take them.” He demanded, passing Sansa the book. She took them and put them back on the table.  
“It’s 9 o’clock. What are you about, Miss Stark, to keep my young ward awake this long? Take her to bed.”   
“Yes, sir.” Sansa curtsied. “Come, Myrcella.”  
The young girl rose and approached her benefactor, giving him a kiss on the right cheek.   
“Good night, sir.” The little girl said pleasantly.  
“I wish you all good night,” Mister Clegane addressed Old Nan, who rose and curtsied.   
“Good night, sir.”  
Sansa was the last out of the door, and she turned to face the master, who was staring unabashadley at her, as if challenging her.  
“Good night, sir.” She would not be bowed by this strange man.  
Clegane simply nodded, never taking his eyes off of her as she left.

Sansa was coming down the stairs several days later, and greeted Mister Clegane as he ran up the stairs.  
Reaching her, he paused.  
“I suppose you’ve enjoyed your day, sir?” Sansa smiled.  
“Aye, and I hope you’ve enjoyed yours, little bird.” His eyes seemed full of light, though he did not smile.   
“Yes sir. I’m glad to see your leg has recovered, as well.” Sansa did her best to remain cheerful in his presence, though she really wanted to unravel his mysterious personality.  
“A few days of rest cured it well enough.” Clegane waved his hand, dismissing the injury.  
“Still, sir, be careful to take such risks.” Sansa did not want to see him fall again, lest his bad mood return.  
“Oh, aye, or you’ll bewitch Stranger again?” He barked a laugh. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Stark. I must change my clothes.”  
Sansa curtsied, and Mister Clegane made his way up the stairs.  
“It seems our master’s good health has returned.” Sansa addressed Leah, who was walking by with fresh laundry.  
“Oh, I’m sure it has something to do with him out riding Stranger again.” Leah laughed.  
“Yes, I suppose he must visit all the gentry in the area.” Sansa mused. Being a nobleman must come with many responsibilities to one’s peers.  
“Oh, yes ma’am! Especially when there’s young ladies concerned!” Leah tittered a laugh. “Have you heard of the honorable Miss Margery Tyrell?”  
sansa shook her head. “No, I can’t say I have.”  
“Oh, you will,miss.” Leach said cryptically, and walked away.

The next night, Mister Clegane had called Old Nan, Myrcella and Sansa back to the drawing room for tea, where he presented Myrcella with her present that she had so looked forward to.  
“There. Amuse yourself with disemboweling it.” He said gruffly as he handed the young blonde a large box.   
Myrcella took the box and practically ran to Old Nan, who helped her open it.  
“Have a seat, Miss Stark.” Mister Clegane ordered, gesturing to a chair to his right.  
Sansa made to pull the chair away from it’s spot next to him, when he stopped her.  
“Don’t move the chair, Miss Stark. Leave it exactly where I put it.”  
Sansa stood behind the chair for a moment, and Mister Clegane sighed. “If you please, that is. I’m not used to civilities, Miss Stark.”  
Sansa sat down, and Myrcella squealed in delight as she pulled a beautiful doll from the large box.  
“Oh, Mister Clegane, it’s beautiful!” the little girl exclaimed.  
Old Nan smiled. “Come, child, let us go play with your doll while the master speaks to Miss Stark.” The older woman placed the lid on the box and let a bouncing Myrcella out of the room.  
The room was quiet, and Mister Clegane made no attempt to start conversation, as he was more intent on looking into the fire with a scowl on his face.  
Sansa took this opportunity to examine the right half of his face, not bothering to hide her stare.  
“You examine me, Miss Stark. Tell me, do you find me handsome?” Mister Clegane smirked.  
“No, sir,” Sansa replied.  
Clegane laughed. “There is something singular about you, little bird. You’ve the air of a septa, quaint and quiet, with your eyes bent to the floor-except, by the by, when they’re piercing my face. Yet you have a wit, girl. Ask you a question and you rap out a brusque reply with no mercy; and what do you mean by it?”  
“I beg pardon sir, I spoke too plainly.” Sansa said.   
Clegane glared at her. “You did nothing of the sort, girl. Go on, then. What faults do you find with me?” He spat, turning his face to her fully, displaying the scars, which looked to move in the firelight.  
“Mister Clegane, please, I meant no insult. It was a blunder.” Sansa pleaded.  
“Just so.” He snapped. “You shall be held responsible for it. Now, girl. Am I a fool?”  
“No sir,” Sansa replied.  
Her employer stared at her.  
“It may seem rude, sir, if I inquire if you are a philanthropist,” Sansa chose her words carefully, trying to avoid another slip of the tongue.  
“No, Miss Stark, I am not considered a philanthropist.” His grey eyes bored into her. “When I was as young as you were, when you were in your little institution, I was a feeling fellow enough. I was partial to the unlucky and unfostered. But fortune has knocked me about since. Now, I consider myself as hard and tough as Valeriyan steel.”  
Again, he stared into the fire before continuing.  
“Not impervious, however. I’ve still a chink or two in the armor. Does it leave hope for me?”  
Sansa’s eyebrows knitted. “For what, sir?”  
Clegane smiled, a strange sight, with one half of his face twisted grossly in a grimace, while the other beamed at her.   
“You look puzzled, little bird. Though I should say the expression diminishes your beauty some.” He paused, looking at her pensively. “Yet it becomes you. Besides, it’s very convenient. It keeps those wandering blue eyes off of my features.”  
Sansa bowed her head, and her employer rose.  
“I find myself in a communicative mood, girl. The fire and the chandelier were not sufficient enough company for me, that is why I sent for you. Can’t talk to a young girl. Or an old lady, nor Stranger or Pilot. But you…”  
Sansa lifted her head and met his eyes.  
“It puzzled you at first, why I called you here. But I find it pleases me to draw you out, learn more of you. Speak, girl.”  
“about what, sir?” Sansa asked.  
“Whatever you like, little bird.”  
Sansa could not bring herself to ask the many questions that ran through her mind, and remained silent.  
“Ah, you’re dumb, then, Miss Stark? Stubborn?” He rose and looked at her more intently.  
“And annoyed, eh?” he chuckled. “Forgive me, Miss Stark. I put my request in an insolent form. I beg your pardon. I do not wish to treat you as inferior, girl. I simply speak with twenty years more experience than you.”  
Sansa’s eyebrow rose. “Twenty? Do you think me a fool, sir?”   
Clegane laughed deeply at that. “Ah, you’ve seen through me. I’m but fourteen years your senior. Yet it’s close enough to twenty, I figure.”  
He paused. “I speak with a century more experience than you. Now, girl,” He bent slightly, catching her chin in his hand and turning her face towards him. “Have the goodness to talk to me a little.”  
Sansa was taken aback. It was improper for such an intimate touch, but as her master had said, he was worldly and not accustomed to proper manners, and so she allowed it and did not protest. His large hand was warm against her skin, and felt rough and calloused, but it did not seem to bother her.  
“Divert my mind from it’s fixation on one singular point.” He dropped his hand, but something dark remained behind his eyes, something foreign.  
“I’m willing to amuse you, sir, but how do I know what will interest you? Ask whatever you like, and I shall answer truthfully.”   
“Firstly, do you agree that, as your master, I have the right to be abrupt and demanding at times? I’m old enough to be your father, have roamed half of the globe, whilst you have remained with one sort of people, in one sort of house.” He seemed agitated again.  
“Do as you please, Mister Clegane.” Sansa lowered her gaze.  
“That’s no answer.”Clegane barked.”It’s irritating and evasive. Do not chirp at me, bird. Answer truthfully.”  
Sansa met his gaze then. “No sir. I do not think you have the right to make demands of me simply on the grounds that you are older than me, or have seen more of the world than I have. Your claim to superiority depends upon the use you have made of your time and experience.”  
“Promptly spoken. But you see, I have made poor use of both advantages. Well, with the question of superiority out of the way, surely you must agree to receive my orders now and then, without it piquing that temper I see behind your eyes.”  
Sansa tried to hide a smile. He had seen right through her.  
“A smile, eh, girl?” Clegane’s eyes crinkled up at the edges, though he did not smile, but Sansa guessed that he was amused.  
“I was thinking, sir, that few masters would trouble themselves as to inquir about the feelings and opinions of their paid subordinates.”   
“Paid subordinate?” Clegane seemed insulted.  
“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten the matter of the salary.Well then. On that ground, do you agree to let me heckle you a little?”  
Sansa met his eyes and smiled a small smile. “No sir, not on that ground. But on the ground that you forgot it, and that you care as to how one in your dependency feels.”  
“And will you agree to cease your chirping? To dispense with the pleasantries without thinking me insolent?” He moved to stand in front of her, towering above her.  
“I would hope, sir. For I know the difference between insolence and informality. One I rather like, and the other…” Sansa trailed off. “I would not submit to, even for a salary.”  
“Bugger that, Miss Stark. Most free-born beings would submit to anything for a salary” Mister Clegane returned to his seat. “I’ll shake hands with you for that answer, though, despite its inaccuracy. Not one in three thousand schoolgirl governesses would have answered me in the way you just did.”  
He slouched in his chair and stared back into the fire.  
“Not that I mean to flatter you, girl. For all I know, you have intolerable faults that outweigh the few good points in you.”  
Sansa raised an eyebrow, and could have sworn she saw him smirking  
Finally, he met her gaze, and did not miss the raised eyebrow.  
“Yes, you’re right, little bird. I have plenty of faults of my own. I was placed on the wrong track at the age of 10, and have never recovered the right path since. I might have been different. Perhaps even as good as you, girl. Wiser. I envy you your peace of mind and clear conscience.Your untarnished memory.”  
“And how was your memory, sir, when you were ten?” Sansa countered.  
“Oh, I was your equal, girl. Quite your equal. Nature meant me to be on the whole, a good man, Miss Stark. But I am not. I am a sinner, bound by all the sins of the rich folk. I wish I’d been firm, gods know I do. Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Stark. Remorse is the poison of life.”  
Sansa did not know what to say, and thus asked herself what example Jeyne had set for her.  
“Repentance and faith are said to be it’s cure, sir.”   
“It is not.” Mister Clegane said shortly. “Reformation, perhaps. I could reform, but what’s the use? I’m hardened, burdened, and cursed. Besides, I’m allotted pleasures out of life, and I will have them, Miss Stark, cost what it may.”   
For some reason, that sounded like a warning to Sansa.  
“Then you will degenerate further, sir.” Sansa pitied him, but knew this was no way for him to begin upon the right path. His search for the pleasures of life had trapped him for gods knew how long.  
“Why should I? If I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I will get it. Sweet and fresh as the spring snow.” He regarded Sansa with those cold steel eyes again.  
“You are a little bird, trapped in a cage, girl. Vivid, resolute, restless, but a captive nonetheless. Were you but free, you could soar cloud high.”  
Sansa bowed her head. “I’m afraid at this moment I do not understand you, sir.”  
Clegane chuckled. “At this moment, Miss Stark, I’m paving hell with my energy.”  
“Sir?”  
“I’m laying down good intentions which I believe to be as durable as flint.” He continued to stare at her.  
“Are you afraid of me because I talk like a sphinx, girl? Or perhaps it’s this, eh?” He waved a hand in front of the scarred half of his face, voice dripping with bitterness.  
Sansa had no words, and rose. “I am not afraid of you, sir,” She finally spoke as she walked by his chair.  
“And where are you going, little bird?” Clegane asked, almost as if he would miss her company.  
“To put Myrcella to bed, sir. It is past her time. She is beautiful, is she not?”Sansa tried to make small talk, but her master seemed to have other ideas.  
“Aye. The spitting image of her mother. A little seductress.” His voice sounded far away.  
Sansa was taken aback by his words. “Sir?”  
“Never mind, girl. I shall explain one day. Good night, Miss Stark.” He waved his hand, dismissing her.  
“Good night, Mister Clegane.” With that, Sansa took her leave, no way of knowing what thoughts brewed behind her master’s eyes as he started into the fire long into the night.

The next day, Sansa and Myrcella sat in the garden, several feet apart. Myrcella had begged Sansa to draw her, and the redheaded woman had finally given in, though she had to keep reminding her charge to stay still.  
Sansa was engrossed in her drawing, and did not notice Mister Clegane stalk up to her until he ducked under some low hanging branches of a nearby tree, cursing lowly as one hit his face.  
Sansa looked up and made to stand, but Mister Clegane raised a hand, and she remained seated.  
“Miss Stark-” He began, but was cut off by Myrcella speaking her native tongue, asking if she was free to move now.  
“You may rest, Myrcella.” Sansa called to her.  
She turned her face towards her employer, who remained standing, looking down from his great height at her.  
“I promised you and explanation, Miss Stark. Years ago, I had a great passion for Myrcella’s mother, who was a world renowned dancer and actress.” He paused, as if waiting for something.  
“No reproach, Miss Stark?”   
Sansa looked up at him. “No, sir.”  
He looked over the gardens, humming with approval. “I like this place. My home, as it could be. But I have shunned it, avoided it as if it were plagued. Feared it.”  
“Feared, sir?” Sansa looked at him with concern.  
“I was speaking of Miss Varens.” He quickly switched subjects, as he was wont to do. “I called one night, when she was not expecting me. And what did I find? But Miss Varens, in the arms of another man. He was a cavalry officer, brainless youth. A woman who would be satisfied with his company was not worth contending for. So I paid her off. You have never felt jealousy, have you, Miss Stark?”  
Sansa shook her head, some of her brilliant red hair slipping loose as she did, framing her face quite attractively. Mister Clegane looked away suddenly.  
“No. I thought not. Of course not, you have never felt love.” His words were not meant as an insult, but Sansa suddenly felt small and naive.  
“I’m very ignorant of the world, it seems. Perhaps I should have guessed something similar.” Sansa said glumly.  
“Now that you know your charge is the illegitimate child of an opera girl, I suppose you’ll think differently of your post and your protege. Perhaps the little bird will come to me begging to fly away.”  
“No, sir.” Sansa said icily, quite insulted that Mister Clegane would think her that shallow. “Myrcella is not responsible for either her mother’s faults or yours. And now that I know that she is, in a sense parentless, without her mother and disowned by you, sir, I shall cling closer to her than before.”  
Before Mister Clegane could respond, the coachman came running down the hill.   
“Sir, the agent is here, sir.” He said breathlessly.  
“Very good. Put him in the library. I shall be along shortly.” Mister Clegane said.  
As he ducked under the tree again, Sansa watched his large form bend, and wondered how such a bitter heart could reside within him.  
“Thank you, Miss Stark,” He called over his shoulder.

It was several nights later that Sansa awoke to a creaking sound coming from outside of her door, followed by laughter.  
She bolted upright in bed, and tentatively called out, “Who’s there?”  
There was no answer.  
Throwing back her blankets, Sansa rose from bed and quickly tossed on a thin robe to cover her blue nightgown, and headed towards the door to listen.  
She heard more creaking, and decided to brave it and open the door.  
Out in the hallway, she found nothing but a candle, burning in the middle of the floor.  
As she bent to pick it up, she heard more of that maniacal laughter, and saw the door to the third floor close.   
Frightened, she called out for Old Nan, but there was no response.  
Suddenly, a whiff of smoke blew past her, and Sansa followed to scent, down the hall,past her room, and all the way to-  
It was Mister Clegane’s room. Smoke billowed from underneath the door, and Sansa cried out, running inside and throwing the door open.  
“Mister Clegane!” She yelled in terror, beholding the sight before her: there was Clegane, asleep with a wine bottle in his hand, as his four poster bed burned all around him.  
Continuing to call out his name, Sansa grabbed the wash basin and pitcher from his nightstand and threw the water at him, desperate to wake him up.  
The cold water did the trick, for suddenly, his great form began to move, and she saw his eyes open, and transfix in terror at the wild flames.  
He froze, and Sansa reached into the bed as far as she dared, pulling at this hand, begging him to move.  
Finally, he turned his glazed eyes to her, and it was as if he was seeing for the first time. The terror did not leave, but he was no longer frozen, and leaped out of bed.  
“Fuck!” He yelled as he stood in front of the bed and watched it burn.  
Sansa tried to move around him, but he grabbed her arm, and held her close, almost clinging to her.   
There was no time to feel immodest like this, in her nightgown, pressed against a shirtless man as his bed burned.  
Sansa ripped away from him, trying to tear down the bed curtains.  
“Sansa, no!” Clegane roared, finally moving into action, pushing her aside and ripping the curtains down himself, stomping them until the flames went out, his eyes wild and frantic, sweat pouring down his brow.  
Sansa ran to fetch more water, and by the time she had returned, Clegane had pulled all of the curtains down and was attempting to fight the fire.  
Sansa poured the water over the flames, and Clegane began to smother the flames with what was left of his blanket, until finally, the fire was out.  
Panting in exertion and perhaps something else, Clegane stepped as far away from the bed as he could.  
“That was not more of your witchery, you sorceress?” He growled.  
“I heard someone creeping around outside my room, and then terrible laughter. I ran into the hallway, and saw the door to the upper staircase close. Whoever it was set fire to your room and fled up the staircase!” Sansa was frantic.  
“Should I fetch Old Nan?” Sansa fidgeted, adrenaline still pumping through her.  
“What the hell for?” Clegane asked “What can she do before morning?”  
Sansa turned to run out of his room, crying that she would fetch Leah and her husband, but Clegane crossed the floor between them in two steps and held her in place, bringing her close to his large frame.  
“You’ll wake no one, girl.” He regarded her for a moment, and then walked towards his wardrobe, pulling out two large shirts. One, he pulled on but did not bother to button, and the other, warmer one he gave to Sansa.  
“Put this on.” He draped the shirt around her shoulders, and led her to a large chair in the corner of the room.  
“Wait here.” He said as he walked out of his room and shut the door behind him.

Sansa had fallen asleep in the chair by the time Mister Clegane returned to his room.  
He was standing before her, leaning close to her face, his hand outstretched. This was the first time he had seen Sansa with her hair down, and he was transfixed.  
As she opened her eyes, he stood and walked into the sitting room adjacent to his room, and then returning with a tumbler and two glasses.  
He poured her a drink, and handed it to her.  
“Thank you, Mister Clegane,” Sansa murmured, bringing the glass to her lips.  
“Dispense with the pleasantries, girl. You’ve just saved my life. Call me Sandor when in private.” He downed his glass and poured another.  
Sansa sipped at her drink, making a face at the sour wine as it slid down her throat.  
Sandor chuckled at her expression. “Not fond of Dornish red, I take it?” He took the glass from her and, to her shock, placed his lips where hers had been and drank it all.  
Sansa shivered in the cold, thinking of the haunting laugh she had heard.  
“Is...is everything alright, si-Sandor?” she asked hesitantly, feeling his name roll off of her tongue for the first time.  
“Yes, little bird. I’ve taken care of everything. You must never say a word of this to anyone, understand?Tomorrow I’m going to tell everyone what happened, and I insist that you not contradict me.” He fixed her with a hard look. “Understand?”  
“Yes, sir.” Sansa nodded  
“Sandor,” He said around another glass.  
The first traces of dawn had begun to seep into the room, and Sansa yawned.  
Sandor looked at her with a soft expression. “Go to bed, little bird. All is well.”  
Sansa nodded, and rose, pulling his shirt closer around her slender frame.  
“Good night, Sandor.”  
“What, quitting me already? And in that way?” His voice was a low rumble that perplexed Sansa in a way she had never felt before.   
“You said to go, sir?” Sansa stopped in front of him.  
“At least...Shake hands?” His speech was halting, and Sansa could hear his breathing. It was uneven, shallow. He must still be reeling from the night’s events, she supposed.  
As Sansa stretched out her hand to shake his, Sandor grabbed it gently, placing it between both of his own large hands. His fingers stroked small patterns on her skin, and it made Sansa shiver. Some warmth crept into her, and her body began to tingle.   
Sandor began murmuring about how he knew she would do him good, and had known from the moment he had seen her.  
“Sir, please, it was nothing,” Sansa protested.  
“Still chirping, bird?” He rumbled a low laugh.   
“I am in your debt, Miss Stark, and I am glad of it.”  
He began to pull her towards him, but Sansa was as skittish as a horse, and tried to back away. He did not force her or pull her against her will, but there was some strange longing in his eyes.   
“Please sir, I am cold.” Sansa whispered as he began to gently pull her towards him again. The strange way his eyes fixed upon her face scared her.  
“Cold…” He murmured, after a moment releasing her hand. “Go then, Sansa.”  
“But sir, you cannot sleep here.” Sansa protested.  
“I’ll do fine on the library sofa, girl. Go.” he released her hand, and a sudden pang of something hit her insides, right in her chest.  
She walked to the door, and Sandor followed and opened it for her, and then followed her down the hallway to her room, where he stood, leaning against the doorframe, shirt hanging open, watching her with an unreadable expression.  
“Thank you, Sansa.” He said, his eyes drilling into her.  
“Remember, say nothing of this.”   
She nodded. “Goodnight, Sandor.”  
He waited until she had entered her room and was about the close the door when he placed a well built leg in the frame, causing the door to remain open.  
“Sansa,” he said in a serious tone. “From now on, I want you to lock your door at night, understood?”  
“Yes, sir.” Sansa nodded.  
“Good girl. Off to bed with you.” With that, he turned and left, waiting to walk down the hall until he heard the telltale click of her lock.   
In her room, Sansa stumbled into bed, and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.  
It was not until the next morning that she realized that she had worn Sandor’s shirt to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the story will not be uploaded as quickly, as I will be gearing up for school in the fall, but rest assured that I do not intend to abandon this fic :)   
> Thank you all for your support!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange happenings at Clegane Manor

Ten days had passed since the incident that night, and it was enough for Sansa to begin to wonder and form her own opinions on the matter. Mr Clegane had left, and would hear nothing of her protests about keeping Grace in his employment, but she was sure that the strange laugh and the candle in the hall, and indeed, the attempt on the master’s life rested on Grace’s shoulders. She grew cold if she happened across the older woman, determined to get to the bottom of why Grace was allowed to stay, but had far more important matters to attend to in the master’s absence.   
Sansa was sipping tea late in the afternoon with Old Nan one day, talking about nothing in particular, when Leah entered, carrying a letter for Nan.  
Nan opened the letter, read it, and immediately jumped to her feet.  
“Oh, Sansa, dear, we shall be as busy as beavers! The master is to return in three days’ time, with a party of friends!”  
Sansa felt a wave of relief wash over her. She had been worried about Mister Clegane, and, truth be told, had missed his company.  
But her heart fell when Nan continued to read the letter, and mentioned that the honorable Margery Tyrell would be joining the party.  
Miss Tyrell. She did not know why that name struck such dread in her heart, but it did, and Sansa was overcome with strange feelings when she thought of Mister Clegane shunning her company for that of a young, beautiful woman.  
“Come, my dear, we have much to do!” Old Nan was in a tizzy, excited for the gentry to finally come visit the grand hall.  
“Yes, of course.” Sansa murmured, trying to ignore the ache in her chest.

Three days later, as promised, Mister Clegane could be seen astride Stranger, galloping towards Clegane Hall, along with several other figures trailing behind him. Sansa, in a window with Myrcella, could see a rider, side-saddle, keeping up with Mister Clegane, but she wondered how an ordinary horse could keep up with her master’s great destrier.   
Soon enough, the riders trotted into the gravel walkway that led to the house, and, one by one, each rider dismounted.  
Sansa could see a young, curvaceous woman with long blonde hair dismount with Mister Clegane’s help, and she was overcome with sadness.  
She watched as Old Nan greeted the party, and the young blonde took Mister Clegane’s arm as he led her inside.  
“She is beautiful, yes, Miss Stark?” Myrcella enquired, excited to finally see the pretty ladies come to the hall.  
“Yes,” Sansa murmured. “Very beautiful indeed.”

The next day, Sansa and Old Nan watched from the stairs as Mister Clegane and his friends filed out of the hall excitedly, off on an excursion to who knows where. Old Nan was in a tizzy, finally glad to be of more use to more people, and she was even more excited to finally see the master take interest in a young lady.  
After the party had left, Nan thought it wise to lecture Sansa on the roles of the gentry, and how Miss Tyrell had a role to play in the joining of family trees, and family fortunes, and how glad she was that Mister Clegane had taken an interest in her, as they made a handsome couple.  
Sansa glumly agreed, lost in thought, wishing for once in her life that she was a fine lady, to be the center of Mister Clegane’s attention.  
“Oh, and I mentioned to the master how Myrcella would love to dance for the fine ladies, and he said to bring her tonight into the drawing room, so that she may entertain his guests!” Nan laid her hand on Sansa’s in a gesture of excitement.  
At once Sansa perked up. “Oh, she shall be so ecstatic! I shall lay out her finest dress!”  
“Be sure to lay out your finest, too, for the master expressly asked that you join the party as well!” Nan clapped her hands.  
“Oh, no, he must be in jest,” Sansa protested, a feeling of dread pooling low in her stomach.  
“Oh, no, my dear! I told the master you were terribly shy, and he said to tell you it is his wish, and that if you do not comply, he shall come fetch you himself!” Nan tittered a laugh.  
Sansa wanted to refuse, and tell Nan exactly what she thought of Mister Clegane’s guests (she was not fond of them in the slightest), and that she was too plain to join such beautiful company, but held her tongue, knowing that Mister Clegane’s will was made of iron, and that he would brook no argument.  
And so, that night, Sansa and Myrcella joined the lords and ladies in the drawing room, to be the subject of much gossip and pointed remarks in Sansa’s case, or delighted laughter and spoiling, in Myrcella’s.   
Miss Tyrell seemed haughty and rude to Sansa, and she often caught the young blonde woman staring at her with contempt.  
The blonde woman began to speak ill of governesses as a whole, and quite loudly, so that Sansa would hear. Myrcella shifted uncomfortably next to Sansa, who sat ramrod straight, and whispered in Valeryian that she thought Miss Tyrell was being dreadfully rude.  
Sansa shushed her charge, but could not take the insults that began to fly when some of the other fine ladies joined in, telling stories of how they had terrorized their own teachers for sport.  
Miss Tyrell soon became bored of the subject, and offered to play the piano instead. Mister Clegane was quite delighted in her suggestion, and, as he stood by her side as she played, Sansa felt tears pricking her eyes.  
Quietly, she stood and left the room, closing the door behind her, trying for all her worth not to cry in the hallway.  
Why must they treat her so? She was not as beautiful as them, but she was not nothing to look at, as Shae had told her as a child that she would be a fine beauty one day. Perhaps it was her plain dress, or her social station, but whatever the reason, Sansa wanted nothing more than to hide away in her room and never come out again.  
She made to climb the stairs, when she heard a throat clear behind her, and turned to see Mister Clegane standing there, watching her.   
He approached her, and stood in front of her, close enough that Sansa would have had to crane her neck up, if she was not already standing to his height with the help of the stairs.  
“How do you do?” He asked quietly.  
“I am well, sir.” Sansa lied.  
“Why didn’t you come and speak with me in the drawing room?” He asked pointedly.  
“You seemed engaged, sir. I did not wish to disturb you.” Sansa tried to steel herself, tried to look into his unflinching eyes, but found herself wanting to tear her gaze away, to run up the stairs, but she knew he would catch her before she had made it three steps.  
“What have you been doing in my absence, little bird?” his eyes remained locked on her face.  
“Teaching Myrcella, as usual, sir.” Sansa replied.  
“Is that all?” Clegane pressed.  
“I have been helping Nan around the house, as well, sir.” Sansa replied, hoping he would drop this line of questioning and simply let her go.  
“You’re looking quite a bit paler than usual, Miss Stark. What’s the matter?” He refused to let her go easily.  
“Nothing is the matter, sir,” Sansa lied again.  
“What, did you catch cold, that night you half-drowned me?” Clegane’s eyes flashed, and Sansa knew he was jesting.  
“No sir,” she tried to hide a smile.  
“Then return to the drawing room, You’re flying away too early, little bird.”  
“I am tired, sir,” Sansa lied for the third time, desperately begging the gods to make him let her go.  
“Tired? And a little depressed, as well, eh?” He stepped closer to her, resting one leg on the first stair. “Tell me what about.”  
“I’m not depressed, sir,” Sansa said, looking down.  
“And I,” Clegane reached up and cupped her chin, making her look at him in the eyes, “affirm that you are.”  
Sansa shivered at the warmth of his hand, and Clegane’s eyes darkened with some unknown emotion.   
“So depressed, in fact, that you look to be on the verge of tears. I would know what this means if I had more time.” He backed down, releasing her face and shaking his head slightly.  
“Go. Tonight I shall excuse you, but I expect to see you in the drawing room every evening while my guests are here. It is my wish, Sansa. Do not forget it. Send Sophie for Myrcella.”  
With one last piercing gaze, Clegane bent slightly towards her, but then stood straight once more and abruptly turned and walked away, leaving an emotionally distraught Sansa standing on the stairs.

As the days wore on, Sansa saw more and more of Mister Clegane’s affections towards Miss Tyrell. She knew he was going to marry her for her station, and to bring the two fortunes together. It made her jealous some nights, as she knew he did not love her, but most nights, she resigned herself to feelling nothing but emptiness.  
One day, Mister Clegane rode off to the nearest town on business. That same day, a stranger, a Mister Jamie Lannister arrived at Clegane Hall.  
Sansa caught a glimpse of him as he was ushered to a room by Old Nan, but did not get to greet him.   
That same evening, Sansa was called into the drawing room, for, though Mister Clegane had not returned, a fortune teller had showed up at the gates, and insisted upon telling the fortunes of all the gentry there. All young, female gentry, that was.  
It caused such a commotion, and divided the guests there. Some wished her to be thrown out, and others wished to have their fortunes told. In the end, it was the whims of the overly curious young ladies that won out, and the old woman was allowed to stay.  
After much back and forth, Miss Tyrell rose stiffly, and looked down her nose at Sansa as she stalked towards the doorway.  
“Naturally, I shall go first,” She let out a smug smile as she left the room.  
Some fifteen minutes went by before Miss Tyrell was seen again, and this time wearing such a sour look upon her face that Sansa had a hard time not smiling, the corners of her mouth twitching, threatening to betray her amusement at the young blonde’s obvious annoyance.  
“Well?” a young redheaded man asked. “What did she say?”  
Miss Tyrell put on her tightest smile as she sat down.  
“She pawed at my hand and told me what such cretins usually tell,” Miss Tyrell said, and shook her head when pressed for further information.  
“I suppose it is my turn now,” One of the other young ladies said nervously, rising from her seat and making her way to the door.  
Upon her re-entry to the room, the young lady looked quite devastated, as if she were upon the verge of tears.  
One of the older guests, a white haired gentleman, rose and took her hand as she addressed the room:  
“There is something not right about her, I am sure of it! She knows about all of us, and told me such things!”  
This caused quite a stir in the room, and some called for this ‘entertainment’ to end, while others still were too curious for their own good, and continued to file out of the room, one by one, to see the old fortune teller.  
Finally, after much time had passed, it seemed that all the young women had been seen.  
Sansa had begun to fidget slightly, not paying attention to the butler, who had entered the room and crossed to stand in front of her.  
“Excuse me, Miss Stark, but she says that there is one more fortune to be told.” He addressed her kindly, but too loudly for Sansa’s comfort.  
A haughty laugh sounded from the other side of the drawing room, and Sansa looked up to see Miss Tyrell smiling in a mean way at her.  
“The governess, indeed.” The blonde practically sneered as Sansa rose, nodding to the butler, and following him out of the room, ignoring the cruel stares of the gentry.

The room that the fortune teller had holed up in was dark, lit only by a fire, and nothing else. The elderly woman sat away from the flames, and had a single chair placed by the hearth, which Sansa assumed was for her to sit on.  
“Greetings, Miss.” Came a raspy, high pitched voice. “Sit thee down, and hold ou’ thee hand.”  
Sansa did as she was bade, and a pair of hands, wrapped in colorful silks, reached out, and took hold of her own, stroking and caressing the palms, as if searching for something.  
Sansa barely had time to wonder on the largeness of the hands, when the old woman threw them up in the air.  
“Bah!” She rasped.”I can make nothing of them, they be too fine!”   
A moment passed, and Sansa opened her mouth to speak, assuming that, with her hands not being read, she was through.  
“Kneel upon the rug, dearie,” The old woman said suddenly. Sansa, of course, did as she was bade.  
“It’s in your face,” The old woman began. “About the eyes. The set of the mouth. With what feelings did you come to see me tonight? Have you no secret hope? One that whispers to you of a sweet future?”  
Sansa looked down. “The utmost and only hope I have is to save up enough money to one day start a small school.”  
The old woman laughed. “And when you’re sitting in that window seat?”  
Sansa was taken aback.  
“Yes, child, I know your habits.”   
“Nonsense,” Sansa replied. “You’ve been speaking to the servants.”  
“I do know one of them, but that’s neither here nor there.” The old woman’s smile was audible.  
“A quick one, you are. Sharp. But what else troubles thee? A Miss Grace, perhaps? She shouldn’t. She can be trusted, that one.”   
Sansa eyed her warily, and began to open her mouth, but the old woman continued.  
“When you sit upon that window seat, is there nothing else that crosses your mind? ‘Sides your future little school, Miss? Do you not think upon a companion? Do you not study the face of one, and one only?”  
Sansa stiffened slightly. She felt uncomfortable in this inquiry.  
“I like to observe all faces,” She replied, somewhat truthfully.  
“Are you forced to observe your master?” The old woman pressed.  
“He is not a home, and has no place in this conversation.” Sansa made to stand. “And neither do I, quite frankly.”   
The old woman’s hand shot out and grasped at Sansa’s wrist. Sansa was taken aback by the strength of her hands.  
“Aye, he’s not at home, but does that blot him out of existence? Sit child. Answer me.”  
Sansa warily sat back down. “I hardly see what Mister Clegane has to do with my habits.”  
“But in all of this society, have you not observed the love upon his face?”  
Sansa’s heart suddenly hurt. Love…  
“I did not come to you to confess.” She paused, inwardly fighting with herself, her curiousness and dread that had begun to pool in her stomach since Miss Tyrell had shown up.  
Eventually, it was her curiousness that won out.  
“Is...Is it known that Mister Clegane is to be married?” She wasn’t sure she wanted, or was ready for the answer, and held her breath.  
“Ah yes. And to the beautiful Miss Tyrell.” The old woman leaned back in her chair, as if regarding Sansa, who let out a breath, looking at her hands, desperate not to burst into tears, feeling as if something inside of her was being ripped out.  
“Will it be soon?” Sansa whispered.  
“According to appearances, it seems so.” the old woman reached up and adjusted the many scarves covering her face.  
Sansa straightened her back, determined to see this through.   
“Mother, I did not come here to hear Mister Clegane’s fortune, but my own.”  
“Ah, yes, but your fortune is yet doubtful, dear. Chance has offered you some happiness, and it remains to you to reach out your hand and snatch it up. But if you will do so, that is the question. Kneel again upon the rug.”  
Sansa frowned. “The fire burns me, please do not keep me long.”  
The old woman reached out a hand, and took ahold of Sansa’s chin, turning her face towards the fire, looking deep, for something Sansa was unsure of.  
“The flame flickers in the eye. The eye shines, soft and full of feeling. Favourable eyes. The mouth...it delights in laughter sometimes. But the brow’s the enemy. It says ‘I can live alone, should self-respect requires it,’ or ‘I needn’t sell my soul to buy bliss,’ and even, ‘reason sits firm and holds the reins. It will not let her feelings burst away and hurry her off to wild chasms. The strong winds, earthquakes, shock and fire may pass, but I will follow the guiding of that still small voice called conscience.’”  
Sansa was quite taken aback, and did not know how to begin to respond, when the old woman sighed, and in a deep, familiar voice, said:  
“Well said, conscience, your voice shall be respected.”   
Then, a man’s deep laugh, and once again the high pitched voice, “Well, Sansa, do you know me now?”  
Sansa jumped to her feet, as the old woman threw off her silks and scarves, and stood, laughing before her.  
It was none other than Mister Clegane, smiling widely at her. She was so taken aback that she did not even register the smile upon his normally firm features.   
“It was carried out well, don’t you think?” He asked her as she gaped up at him.  
“This was no party game!” Sansa was furious. “You’ve been trying to draw me out!”   
“Sansa, forgive me my tricks and games.” Mister Clegane’s eyes still sparkled with mirth.  
“I do not know. I may take some time to think about it.” She stepped back, reeling from his deception. And for what purpose trick her in such a way? Sansa had half a mind to tell him that she had no time for his cruel tauntings, when a thought struck her.  
“Mister Clegane-”  
“Sandor,” He cut in, but she did not stop to appease him.  
“-are you aware of the stranger come to see you?”  
“A stranger?”   
“A Mister Lannister, from the Western lands.” She watched as his face fell back into it’s rigid, stern place.  
“Lannister?” He breathed. “Western lands?” His breathing suddenly became loud and heavy.  
“Are you ill, sir?” Sansa stepped forward, but Mister Clegane shook his head and stepped back.  
“Sansa, I’ve got a-” He cut off, running his hands through his long hair, letting it fall away from the scars on his face, shaking his head.  
“I’ve got a blow, Sansa.” He shook his head again, his hand falling to cover his mouth for a moment, before looking up at her. “Where is he?”  
“In the drawing room, with the others, sir.”  
Mister Clegane swiftly passed her, and put his ear to the door.  
“They’re laughing. And talking.” He muttered.  
“Yes, sir, he seemed sociable enough.” Sansa tried to reassure him.  
“Sociable?” Clegane spat. He turned to face her fully, crossing the distance between them in a few steps, and grasping her by her shoulders.  
Sansa was tall, but next to him, felt as small as a mouse.  
“Sansa. If all those people in there turn their back on me, went away from here. Would you go too?” His hands trembled and the hair fell back in front of his face, obscuring his scars, but his eyes caught the light of the fire, and seemed to look panicked, desperate, searching hers for an answer.   
“I would stay with any friend, and I will stay with you. But why do you ask me this?” Sansa was thoroughly confused.  
“Sansa, please. Go in there, quietly. Step up to Lannister, whisper in his ear. Tell him Clegane is here, and waiting to see him. Show him in, and then leave us.”  
He released her, and walked over to a desk in the corner, whereupon he poured himself a tall glass of what Sansa could only assume was Dornish red.  
As she disappeared through the door, Sandor stared after her, downing the wine in a single swig, and poured himself another, his courage waning. He ran his fingers through his hair, sweeping it away from his face, and then straightened his waistcoat.  
He contemplated pouring himself another drink, but the door opened then, and that thought was swiftly erased from his mind as Lannister entered.  
The tall blonde stood in the doorway as the door was closed behind him.  
“Clegane.” Mister Lannister regarded the taller man quietly. “Sorry to arrive without warning.”

Sansa woke late that night to hear voices in the hallway. She did not mean to eavesdrop, but could hear Mister Clegane talking to someone.  
“-has treated you well, Jamie.” he was saying.  
“Yes, Sandor. The coast has been kinder to me than I would have imagined.” A voice replied. Sansa was able to identify the voice as the strange Mister Lannister.   
“Would that I could say the same.” Mister Clegane replied, and then, the voices were too far away to hear.

She awoke again to the sound of a man screaming.   
“Help!” he screamed, over and over.   
Sansa shot up from her bed and ran to the doorway, as did every other guest in the hall.  
They crowded around, chattering in panic, wringing their hands and looking around for someone, anyone, to tell them what to do.  
“Someone fetch Clegane!” a man shouted.  
“Be calm, here I am!” Sansa heard Mister Clegane shout over the din.  
The guests swarmed around him as he appeared from a door in the hallway that Sansa recognized as the door to the upper floor of the manor.   
“Don’t strangle me!” Clegane demanded, and the noise died down. “All is right, do you hear me? All is right.”  
“Well what the devil was that noise then?” Another man asked incredulously.   
“One of the servants had a nightmare, now, please. Return to your rooms, all of you. We must get the house settled at this hour. Gentlemen, please escort the ladies back to their chambers.”  
He quickly took command of the situation and had all of the gentry back to their rooms in no time. Sansa also returned to hers, and was about to return to bed, when she heard a knock at her door.  
“Who is it?” she called softly.  
“Open the door.” Sansa would know his voice anywhere.  
“Have you any smelling salts?” Mister Clegane asked when she opened the door.  
“Yes, sir,” Sansa replied.  
“Good. Bring them,” Clegane jerked his head towards the hallway and left.   
Sansa ran to get the salts from a drawer in her wardrobe, and hurried after Clegane, up into that dark doorway that led to the upper floor of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. It's been forever, sorry. Life really has caught up with me in a lot of areas, and sapped my desire to write anything for a while. But I'm finally in the mood again, with chapter six in the works, so please enjoy!!  
> As always, many thanks to my lovely readers, commenters, and my wonderful beta, Kat, who has been kind enough to take time out of her vacation to continue to beta!  
> This is the first time uploading on an actual computer!! Normally I write and upload via my phone, but was actually given a gaming pc so I'm surprised at how short the chapters are on a pc vs. on my phone.   
> anyway, ramble ramble. love you all!


	6. Chapter 6

Clegane wound his way through the darkened halls with such speed that Sansa found it hard to keep up.   
Up, up the stairs, to a dark doorway that Sansa had given little notice to in the past. Pulling out a ring of keys, Clegane turned to regard her carefully.  
“You do not turn sick at the sight of blood, little bird?” his voice was urgent.  
“I think not, though I have never yet been tried.” Sansa replied honestly.  
Clegane nodded and turned away from her, unlocking the door, and stepping inside, careful to hold his arm in front of her, as if blocking her from some unknown harm.  
Inside the room was a large four poster bed, and little else. A ragged tapestry hung over the wall.  
“Wait here.” He demanded, pulling aside the tapestry to reveal a hidden door, and producing a key from his breast pocket to unlock it.  
Sansa tried not to wring her hands as she watched her master’s frame disappear, but found herself fidgeting with the jar of smelling salts.  
What on earth had gone on this night? She found herself wondering. But, just as quickly as he had vanished into the hidden door, Mister Clegane reappeared, and this time, he was supporting the body of Mister Lannister.  
Some unknown person behind that door closed it after Clegane and Lannister shuffled out, and Sansa heard that same, crazed laugh that she had heard the night Mister Clegane’s room caught fire.  
She had no time to alert her master to this, however, as she soon realized that Mister Lannister was covered in blood.  
“Mister Lannister!” She whispered in shock, a hiss to her voice. Lannister upright as Clegane lowered him onto the bed and stood to his full height again. He walked to the door, looking at her and placing a finger to his lips, he was gone, leaving Sansa with nothing to do but shift her gaze between the hidden door, and the bloody Mister Lannister.  
Soon enough, Clegane returned with a basin filled with water, and a rag, which he placed on the floor. Sansa started to say something, but his eyes caught hers, and he shook his head.   
She understood his need for silence, and nodded back at him.  
He then produced a small pocket knife, and, without the slightest hesitation, began to cut into Lannister’s shirt, making quick work of it and in no time, had the ragged edges away from a vicious wound in the man’s shoulder.   
Sansa placed a hand over her mouth, willing herself to stay strong, and Clegane paused, watching her reaction.  
She closed her eyes to gather strength, and, thinking that she was about to faint, Clegane rushed to her side, steadying her by an elbow, standing too close for propriety’s sake, but Sansa did not care.  
She opened her eyes and looked up at the large man standing beside her, his grey eyes searching her face, brow knit in concern.  
“I’m alright,” Sansa whispered, and Clegane nodded, leaving her side to return to Lannister, picking up the basin on his way to the bedside, and dipping the rag in the water, he began to clean the wound.   
He was as gentle as he could be, but Sansa winced on the inside as the wound was cleaned, revealing a large gash in between Lannister’s neck and shoulder.  
“The salts, little bird.” Clegane murmured as he finished with the wound, placing the rag over it to absorb the flowing blood.  
Sansa uncorked the little jar and handed them to her master quickly, and he placed them under Lannister’s nose.  
“Wake up you fool,” Clegane ground out through gritted teeth.  
Lannister sat motionless for a moment, but then breathed in a large breath of air, and began to cough, waking up with a start, eyes darting around, finally resting on the hidden doorway, and then Clegane, and then, to his wound.  
Once he saw the wound, he began to moan in pain, but Clegane hushed him.  
“There is no danger. It is a shallow wound, don’t be so overcome.” He was too short with the wounded man for Sansa’s liking, but she remained quiet, observing.  
“Bear up. I’ll fetch the surgeon for you myself. We shall have you removed by morning, I hope. Sansa.” His gaze turned to the wide-eyed young woman.  
“Yes, sir?” She asked quietly, too afraid to speak louder. Grace had done this, and Sansa was sure she was in the room hidden behind the tapestry. Was there really no danger?  
“I shall be gone, to fetch the surgeon. Maybe an hour, perhaps two. If he feels faint, I’ve left a glass of water outside the door, put it to his lips along with the salts. Wipe away the blood when it begins to flow. Do not speak to him, on any pretext.” Clegane waited for her affirmation of his orders before turning away from the bedside, when Mister Lannister reached out and grabbed his wrist.  
“Hurry, Sandor.” He coughed.  
“Jamie,” Clegane said, turning back to the wounded man and putting his face close to the other man’s. “It will be at peril of your own life if you speak to her. If you open your lips, agitate yourself, I’ll not be answerable for the consequences.” He stood, regarding the wounded blonde for a moment, before turning to leave.  
“Remember,” He said as he opened the door. “Not one word is to be spoken.” And with that, he stepped through the door, closed and locked it.

Sansa was not sure of the time that had passed. She was terrified by the crazed laughter of Grace in the hidden room, and preoccupied with keeping Mister Lannister awake.   
She employed the use of the smelling salts more than she would have liked, and even had opened a window, letting the cold air into the room to keep him alert, forgetting her own needs as she shivered next to the wounded man.  
Finally, footsteps could be heard in the hallway, and soon after, the jingle of keys.  
The door opened to Mister Clegane and the surgeon, Mister Tarly, who quickly entered.   
“Well, how is he?” Clegane asked Sansa.  
“Breathing, sir. But my skills have reached their limits.” Sansa watched as Tarly knelt beside Mister Lannister and examined the wound.  
“I’ll have to dress and bandage him properly, Clegane. Are you sure he’s fit to move?” The young surgeon asked as he reached into his bag to pull out bandages.  
“You’ve no choice but to move him. I give you but half an hour to get him downstairs and away from here.”  
Leaning close to Mister Lannister, Clegane regarded him.  
“How are you Jamie?”   
“I’m done for, I fear,” Came the feeble reply.  
“Don’t be daft. Courage, man! You’ve lost a little blood, that’s all. Tarly, assure him there’s no danger.”   
The surgeon nodded. “Truthfully, there is none. But Mister Clegane, how is this? The flesh near the shoulder, here, is torn, as well as cut. And there are teeth marks, along the bone, here.”  
“She bit like a lioness when Clegane took the knife from her!” Lannister cried in pain, tears flowing down his face.  
“You shouldn’t have yielded!” Clegane hissed at him. “You should have grappled with her! I warned you, Jamie. But you insisted it be tonight.”  
“She looked so quiet!” Lannister was openly crying. “I thought I could do some good!”  
“You thought?” Clegane asked incredulously. “You thought!” He turned to face the open window.  
“Well, you’ve suffered enough. Tarly, hurry. I must have him away before sunrise.”  
Tarly nodded, but turned his attentions to Lannister’s arm. “I must look to this other wound, as well, sir. There’s teeth marks on his arm, here.”  
“She sucked the blood!” Lannister cried through the tears. “She said she’d drain my heart!”  
Sansa looked with fear towards Clegane, who held out his hand in her direction, as if to assure her.  
“Come, now, Jamie, be silent. Don’t repeat her gibberish!” Clegane moved to stand beside the crying man.  
“I cannot forget it! It will not leave my head!” Lannister looked up at Clegane with watery eyes.  
“You can, and will, when you return to the coast. When you are away from this place. You may think of her as dead and buried.”  
“Never!” Lannister’s voice wavered, and his tears flowed anew.   
“Have some energy, man! You thought you were as dead as a herring, two hours since! Look at you, you’re alive! And Tarly will make you decent in a trice. And I,” He paused, pulling out a vial from his jacket. “Have some medicine of my own to administer. Forgive me, Tarly.”   
The stout man nodded, too busy dressing the wounds to much care.  
“Here, drink this.” Clegane raised the vial to Lannister’s lips.   
“Will it hurt me?” Lannister tried to turn away, but Clegane would not have it.  
“Have some backbone, man! Drink, drink it!”   
He forced the vial to Lannister, who relented and drank.   
“There. Now, you’ll be able to stand with help in a moment. Sansa,” Clegane tucked the empty vial away in his jacket, and grasped her by the shoulders, almost holding her next to him.  
“Get down to my room. Open the wardrobe, and bring me a clean shirt. Bring Lannister’s cloak from his room. Be quick, and tell me if anyone is about.” 

The sun was rising as Sansa stepped outside the kitchen door, on the heels of Misters Clegane, Tarly, and Lannister. The two able bodied men helped a frail looking Lannister into a waiting carriage.  
As they shut the door, Clegane turned to Tarly. “Keep him at your house till he’s well again. Take care of him. I’ll ride over in a few days and see how he is.”  
Tarly nodded, and walked away, towards the other side of the carriage. Clegane looked at Lannister through the open window.  
“How are you feeling, now, Jamie?”  
“The fresh air revives me.” He said, “Sandor.”  
“What is it?” Clegane asked, with little patience.  
“Let her be taken care of. Let her be treated tenderly. Let…” He trailed off, tears flowing anew.   
“I’ll do my best.” Clegane said quietly. “Have done, and shall do.” He slapped the side of the carriage twice, and stood beside Sansa, watching as the carriage drove off.  
“It’s been a strange night for you, little bird.” Clegane turned towards her. “You look pale. Were you afraid when I left Lannister with you?”  
“I was afraid of something...someone in that other room.” Sansa was hesitant, but honest.  
“Ah, but I’d locked the door.” Clegane said, a small smile playing at his lips. “I’d have been a careless shepherd if I’d left a lamb, my pet lamb, unguarded near a wolf’s den.”  
Sansa looked up at him, determined. “Will Grace remain here, sir?”  
Clegane nodded. “Oh yes. But don’t trouble yourself about her. Put it out of your mind.”  
He gestured towards the kitchen door, and the two began to slowly walk towards it.  
“But your life is not safe while she stays.” Sansa protested, adamant that Grace be removed from the household.  
“I’ll take care of myself.” Clegane reassured her.  
“Is the danger you feared when Mister Lannister came by gone now, sir?” Sansa asked, pushing him for an answer. If he said no, then she could not begin to understand why Mister Clegane let Grace stay.  
Clegane paused, and heaved a great sigh. “I cannot vouch for that until Lannister is away at the coast.” He answered, turning again towards her. “Nor even then.”  
“To live, for me, Sansa, is to stand on a crater-crust that may crack and spew fire any day.”  
He smiled at her confused expression. “And now, you look puzzled, Sansa. It’s cold. Not another word until you’ve been nourished.”  
“But, sir-” Sansa protested.  
“Do as you are told!” Clegane laughed, but with a slight edge to his voice.  
Sansa followed him into the house, through the kitchen, and watched as he pilfered the pantry, and bade her follow him, up to his study.  
“Dornish red and lemon cakes will do,” He said as Sansa shut the study door behind them.   
“Sour to balance the sweet, sweet to balance the sour.”   
As he poured two glasses of red wine, and Sansa tried not to wrinkle her nose at the memory of the sourness. Clegane chuckled as she endeavoured to right her expression.   
“Now, little bird. You are my friend, are you not?” Clegane asked as he placed two lemon cakes on a plate and handed it to Sansa.  
“I like to serve you, sir. And obey you. In all that is right,” she added.  
“Exactly. In all that is right, and only that. Well,” he paused to down his glass of wine. “Like Lannister, you too now have power over me, and may injure me by speaking. I dare not tell you more.”   
“If you have no more to fear from Mister Lannister than from me, sir, you are very safe.” Sansa tried to reassure him as she looked down at the impossibly red liquid in her glass, hesitant to drink it.  
“Gods grant it might be so.” He placed the empty glass on a table and walked over to a plush couch, peering out of the window for a moment, before sitting down, and crossing his leg over his knee. He gestured to the seat directly beside himself.  
“Sit, little bird. I want you by me.”  
Sansa hesitated. Surely he was aware that she was still in her night robes? It was not proper, and even he, wordly as he was, must be aware of that.   
“You hesitate?” Clegane asked. “Would it be wrong, Sansa?”  
Sansa swallowed her protests, and did as he bade, though sitting perhaps a bit farther away than he had indicated.  
“Now, Sansa. I’ll put a case to you.” He sat, leaning closer towards her, as if in confidence.  
“Suppose you were no longer a well-reared girl, but a wild boy, indulged and spoiled from childhood. Indulge yourself in a foreign land. Imagine that there you commit…”  
He trailed off, as if thinking.  
“A capital error, and never mind what. But one whose consequences follow you though life and taint every hour of your existence.”  
“An error?” Sansa was doubtful.  
“Yes, an error. Not a crime,” Clegane clarified. “No shedding of blood, or of any other guilty act. I speak of error. In time, the consequences of what you have done become utterly insupportable, and all hope has quitted you. You seek relief in exile, happiness in a heartless sensual pleasure. And, after years of wandering, you come home, heart-weary and soul-withered, and you then meet someone. Never mind who or how, and you find the goodness you have sought for twenty years. And such society revives and regenerates. You long to recommence your life in a way more worthy of an immortal being. Are you justified to attain this end?”  
Sansa looked again at her hands, her heart heavy. Surely, he spoke of Miss Tyrell. Only a man so deeply in love would speak thusly.  
“In over leaping an obstacle of custom, a mere impediment of convention? Is that person justified in daring the world’s opinion to attach this gentle, gracious life to his own?” Clegane continued.   
Sansa looked up at him, willing herself not to cry. “No human can help as the Gods can, sir.”  
“But I have found that being, Sansa!” He regarded her more closely, and seemed to notice Sansa’s pain, saw the look in her eyes, and took in the way her shoulders wilted now.  
Chuckling, he stood.  
“I see you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Margaery Tyrell. Do you not think if I married her, she would regenerate me with a vengeance?”  
Sansa looked at the carpet, not able to stand the way his eyes bored into her. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.   
“To you I can talk of my lovely one, for now you have seen her,” Clegane’s voice carried a strange bite to it.   
“Yes, sir.” Sansa said, finally looking up into his scarred face.  
“She is a rare one, is she not, Sansa?”  
“Yes, sir.” Sansa replied, unable to form any two words but those.  
“A strapper,” Clegane spat. “A real strapper.”   
Sansa regarded her master bleakly, not understanding his ire towards Miss Tyrell in this moment. Perhaps the two had quarreled recently?  
But neither had a chance to say more, as voices were heard coming from the hallway.   
Clegane held a finger to his lips, and walked towards the door. “Leave later,” He murmured as he opened the door, leaving a distraught Sansa behind, alone, cold, and heartbroken.

Later that week, Sansa had the pleasure of talking with one of the gentle ladies about Myrcella as they walked through the halls. This was the first time one of the ladies had spoken kindly to her, and they were discussing what a lovely, talented girl Myrcella was, when the butler stepped up beside Sansa and bowed.  
“Excuse me, miss,” He said, and Sansa turned towards him, as the gentle lady excused herself to go find her husband.  
“There’s someone to see you, miss, in Old Nan’s room,” the butler whispered to Sansa.  
“Oh?” Sansa wondered who it could be. “Thank you, John.” She hurried away.  
Making her way to Old Nan’s room, Sansa pondered on who could possibly be here to see her, as she had no friends, nor family of which to speak.  
Inside the room stood a middle aged man, short, with curly red-blonde hair.   
“I daresay you don’t remember me, Miss, but my name is Tyrion.” He bowed slightly.  
Sansa looked puzzled for a second, and then the realization of who he was struck her.  
“Tyrion! You’re married to Shae! Oh, how do you do, how is she?” Sansa shook Tyrion’s hand quite enthusiastically.  
“She’s quite hearty, thank you, Miss. And so are the children. We have three now!” Tyrion beamed.  
Sansa grinned and congratulated him, happy to hear of her oldest friend’s happiness.  
“The family at the house, though, Miss. They’re very badly, in great trouble. Your Aunt Lysa is very ill. You see, your cousin, Mister Robert, he died a week ago yesterday in King’s Landing.”  
“Shae told me he was ruining his health,” Sansa said solemnly.  
Tyrion nodded. “They say he killed himself. All the news of Mister Robert’s death, and the manner of it, it...it came too suddenly for the missus. She’d borne too much already, what with his habits and all. It brought on a stroke.”  
Sansa did not know what to feel. “Will she live?”  
Tyrion shook his head. “I don’t know, Miss. All I know is that she was three days without speaking. But then, she kept trying to say something. She kept making signs at my wife, and mumbling something. It was only yesterday morning that Shae made out what she was saying. And she was saying "Sansa. Bring Sansa Stark, I want to speak with her". If you can get ready, Miss, I should like to take you back with me.”  
Sansa paused for a moment. “Yes, Tyrion. I shall go. But I will have to ask for leave first. If you don’t mind, I’ll do that now.”  
Sansa made her leave of Tyrion, and began to wind her way through the halls in search of her employer, her mind racing. Aunt Lysa wanted to see her? After all this time? And how should she react? A million questions ran through her head, and her heart ached with turmoil, torn between wanting to see her aunt’s face, and spew venom triumphantly, with another side of her knowing that her triumph would come only in careful, kind words.  
Ah, but revenge in a cold-hearted way, in the manner of Mister Clegane’s sharp words that pierced any armor, would be sweet.  
As Sansa walked into the drawing room, she heard tittering laughter, and steeled herself for all manner of barbs that only Miss Tyrell could send her way.  
When she entered, Sansa saw that Miss Tyrell and one of her young lady friends were playing a game of cards with Mister Clegane, who looked enthralled.   
“Pardon me, Mister Clegane,” Sansa said with a curtsy. “I’m sorry to have intruded.”  
“That person,” Miss Tyrell said, raising her nose in the air, “seems to want you.”  
“Does she?” Clegane asked, looking still at his cards. “Ladies, if you would excuse me for but a moment.”  
Mister Clegane rose followed Sansa out of the door, and walked quickly past her, making his way to his study, with Sansa scurrying behind him.   
Few men were tall enough to make the already tall Sansa feel as if she had to run to keep up, but her employer was one of them.  
Mister Clegane paused and opened the door to his study, gesturing her inside, following close after her.  
As he shut the door and turned, his magnetic gaze turned to Sansa.  
“Well, Sansa?”  
“If you please, Mister Cl-”  
“Sandor,” He waved his hand absent-mindedly at her.  
“Sandor, if you please. I want a leave of absence, for a week, perhaps two.” Sansa blushed as his name came out of her mouth with such ease.  
“But what to do, Sansa? Where to go?” Sandor asked, stepped forward, away from the door, and closer to her.   
“To see a sick lady, who has sent for me.” Sansa replied, wary of telling him it was her aunt. She was not ready for the explanation that would follow his questions.  
“What sick lady? Where does she live?” Clegane demanded.  
“Vale Manor, sir.”   
“Not familiar with it.” He replied.  
“Near The Eyrie, sir,”  
“The Eyrie!” Sandor exclaimed. “That’s a hundred miles off! Who may she be that she sends for people to come and see her at such a distance?”  
“Her name is Arryn, Miss Lysa Arryn.” Sansa held her breath, praying he ask no more questions.  
“Arryn?” He paused and seemed to think for a moment. “Not related to John Arryn, the Magistrate of The Eyrie?” Sandor asked.  
“‘Twas her husband, sir. She is years widowed now. Mr Arryn was my mother’s brother.” Sansa was loathe to relinquish her secret, but did so nonetheless.  
Sandor shook his head. “It’s miles off, Sansa.”  
“Yes, sir, but I shall go.” Sansa looked at him, pleading with her eyes that he understand her position.  
“And how long will you stay?” Sandor seemed to give in with a heavy sigh.  
“As short a time as possible,” Sansa could not give him an exact number of days. Did he not understand that her aunt was sick? She could pass any night, or even recover to better health. One could not rush the dying.  
“Promise me you’ll stay only a week.” Sandor demanded of her, stepping closer to her again.  
“Sandor, I cannot give my word, else I might be obliged to break it!” Sansa was pleading with him to see to reason.  
He stepped closer again, a look of desperation in his eyes. “But you will come back? You won’t let anyone persuade you to stay there?”  
“Of course I shall return, if all be well.” Sansa could not understand his urgency. Surely she meant nothing more than fine education for his charge?   
Sandor sighed again and approached her, coming to rest in front of her, looking down with grey eyes. She felt as if she had to crane her neck to see him properly, which was absurd. Their heights were not so far apart, but his mere presence was miles taller than her own.   
“And who goes with you, all that way? Surely you do not travel on your own.” He searched her face with his eyes.  
“The coachman, a man by the name of Tyrion. His wife, Shae, keeps the lodge at the Manor. They’re old friends.” Sansa almost smiled at his persistence.   
Sandor reached out to touch her elbow, but stopped himself, and instead turned and walked towards the hearth.  
“When should you wish to leave?”   
“As soon as I pack, Sandor.” Sansa corrected herself before he had the chance to.  
His eye seemed to twinkle at her correction, and a slight smile briefly crossed his features, before he seemed to remember that business was at hand.  
“I shall have to give you money, as I have given you no salary as of yet,” Sandor reached into his breast-pocket. “How much have you in the world, Sansa?”  
Sansa briefly rooted around in a little pouch she wore at her side, pulling out five silver coins, and confirming the number to him.  
Sandor produced a note from his pocket, worth 50 gold, and Sansa’s eyes widened.  
“It is 50 gold, Sandor, and you owe me 15. I have no change, besides.”  
“I don’t want change,” Sandor’s voice rose sharply. He sighed again. “Fine.” And began to reach for his waistcoat pocket. “Fine”   
Sansa could not help but smile as he fixed her with a wry look, and he sighed a long-suffering huff as he walked forward, to her open palm.  
“Here is one, two, four, six, eight, and ten.” Sandor placed coin after gold coin into her hand. “Will that be enough?”  
“Of course, sir, but now you owe me five.” Sansa tried to keep her face as straight as possible. But she could not resist a jape on her employer’s behalf.  
“Come back for it then!” Sandor did not seem to take her jape well, as his face clouded over, and he stalked towards the door.  
“Sandor-” Sansa called, and watched as he turned to face her once more.”I...I think this is a proper time to mention another matter.”   
“I’m curious to hear it,” His face was still dark.  
“You’ve good as informed me that you are shortly to be married, sir.”   
“Yes, what of it?”   
Sansa swallowed nervously. “In that case then, Myrcella ought to go to school.”  
“It would get her out of the bride’s way you mean, who might otherwise walk over her?” Sandor’s voice was tense. “There is sense in that, Miss Stark.”  
Sansa was strangely hurt by the formality, and wondered if her face showed it, for next, he said:  
“And you, Sansa?”  
“I should seek another situation elsewhere, sir.” Two could play at the formalities.   
“You should?”He asked.  
Sansa nodded.  
“With the help of your family, I suppose,” Clegane bit out.  
“No sir! I am not on terms with them! I shall come into a new situation by the same means I came to you- I shall advertise.” Sansa thought that sounded quite reasonable.  
“To hell you will!” Sandor all but yelled. “Wish I’d not given you that money, Sansa,” He said as he stormed towards her. “Give me back nine gold.”  
Sansa quickly stuck her hand into her little waist-pouch, secreting the money away. A thought crossed her mind in a split second, that Sandor would not be deterred by propriety, but she shook that thought away.  
“Look, I’ve a use for it.” Sandor urged, his hand poised to receive the funds.  
“Well, so have I!” Sansa replied.   
“You little wolf!” Sandor’s face cracked with a badly-hidden smile. “Give me back five, then!”  
“Not five gold, or five silver, Sandor.” Sansa could not be swayed.  
“Just- let me look at the money.” Sandor’s eyes twinkled.  
“No, sir, you are not to be trusted.” Sansa, to her credit, kept her face straight, though inwardly her heart delighted in the levity of the situation.  
Sandor’s face seemed to sober up after a second. “Promise me you won’t advertise?”  
Sansa paused a moment, uncertain.  
“If you want a new situation, I’ll find you one in good time.”  
Sansa smiled a small smile. “I shall be glad to, Sandor. If you would promise, in turn, tThat Myrcella and myself should be safe out of your house before your bride enters it.”  
“You have my word on it, Sansa.”   
He reached out his hand, and Sansa finally took hers out of her pouch, in order to shake hands upon the promise.  
“So then,” Sandor said as they shook hands, his fingers warm and inviting, holding onto hers for a second longer than strictly proper, “you’re off now.”  
“Yes.” Sansa replied quietly.  
“It seems then, that you and I must bid goodbye for a little while. How do your people perform such a ceremony, Sansa? Teach me, I am not quite up to it.”  
Sansa’s heart began to beat so hard that it hurt, and it confused her. “They say farewell, or any words they prefer.” She said in a small voice.   
“Then say it,” Sandor’s voice rasped at her.  
Sansa looked up at him, and met his beautiful grey eyes. “Farewell, Sandor, for the present.”  
“Farewell, Sansa. For the present.” He replied, almost waiting on something. “Is that all?”  
“Yes,” Sansa whispered over the sound of her beating heart.  
“So, you’ll do no more than say ‘farewell,’ Sansa?”  
“It is enough for now, sir.” She replied.  
“Very likely,” Sandor growled, his face growing dark again. “But it is blank and cool.” With that, he spun on his heel and stormed out the door of the study, slamming it behind him.

Two days later, an exhausted Sansa arrived at Vale Manor once again. A small gathering of Aunt Lysa’s friends and their children had assembled, all waiting in the drawing room for some news of her.  
Sansa was greeted icily after Shae showed her and re-introduced her to the gentry there.  
She kept her head held high, and kept her manners as a shield around her.   
Small talk was made, all of it seeming to be a bore to the others in the room.  
Finally, Sansa spoke up on other matters.  
“I hear Mrs. Arryn has rallied a little.” She smiled.  
“Oh, you mean dear, sweet Lysa,” One elderly woman spoke up. “She is extremely poorly. So much so that I doubt if you can see her tonight.”  
The entire time, the woman spoke down her nose at Sansa, who just smiled in return.  
“If you would just step up the stairs and inform her that I am here, I would be much obliged to you,” Sansa replied, keeping her smile and manners about her.  
The elderly woman looked taken aback, but did not rise.  
“I know she was quite particular in her desire to see me. I should not wish to keep her waiting.” Sansa egged sweetly.  
“Sweet Lysa dislikes being disturbed in the evening.” The woman finally sputtered.  
Sansa dropped her smile somewhat and rose. “Well, I shall have to step out and ask Shae to ascertain whether Miss Arryn is disposed to receive me. Excuse me.”

Aunt Lysa looked pale and fragile, lying in her large bed in her robin’s egg blue room.   
As Sansa approached, she could see the older woman stir slightly in bed.  
“It is I, Aunt Lysa,” Sansa said softly as she reached out, putting her hand gently over her aunt’s.  
Lysa opened her eyes, but did not look at Sansa. “Who, who are you? Aunt? Who calls me aunt?”  
Finally, she looked at Sansa.   
“I know you. You are like...Why, you are like Sansa Stark.”  
“I am Sansa, Aunt. You sent Shae for me.”  
“I am very ill, Sansa. I cannot move a limb, but it is as well. I should ease my mind before I die. But one thing troubles me so, burdens us at such an hour as this. Is there no one in the room but you, Sansa?” Lysa’s eyes were watery and fogged over.  
“We are alone, Aunt.” Sansa soothed, trying to hold her aunt’s hand, but Lysa moved, very slowly, away from her touch.  
“Well. I have twice done you wrong, which I regret now. One, was in breaking the promise I gave to my husband, to bring you up as my own child. The other...Anyhow. Perhaps it is not of importance. Oh, I may get better, for to humble myself to you is painful!” Lysa exclaimed under her breath.  
Sansa, felt anger rise up inside of her, but, to her credit, did not react at all.  
“Well.” Lysa continued. “I must get it over with, then. Eternity is before me. I had better tell you.”  
She looked at Sansa. “Behind you is my wardrobe. Open it. You will see a letter there.”  
Sansa stood and made her way to the wardrobe. It was of fine make, and part of the shelves folded out to create a little desk for jewelry. She remembered seeing this once before, years and years ago.  
“The top drawer,” Lysa managed to raise her voice a little.  
Sansa pulled out the top drawer, and indeed, a letter sat there, waiting to be picked up and re-read. It was obvious that it had been read before, but she didn’t care. Curiosity overtook her as she picked the letter up, but her heart pounded so, and she was too scared to open the letter.   
What could it possibly contain that was so important for her estranged aunt to call her here?  
“Read it,” Lysa commanded, banishing Sansa’s hesitance to read the letter.  
Unfolding the pages, Sansa began to read:  
Madam Arryn, will you please have the goodness to send me the address of my half-sister, Sansa Stark, and tell me how she is? It is my intention to write to her shortly, and desire her to come to me at the Wall. The gods have blessed my endeavours to secure a competency, and, as I am unmarried and childless, I wish to adopt her during my life as full-blood sibling, and bequeath her at my death, whatever I have to leave. I am, madam, yours very faithfully, Jon Snow, the Wall.  
Sansa turned finally to look at her aunt, shocked. A half-brother? And Lysa had hidden it from her?  
“Why did I never hear of him?” Sansa asked softly, keeping her temper at bay. “It was dated three years back.”  
Lysa looked at her with eyes that seemed somehow less fogged over.  
“Because I disliked you too much, to ever help you to prosperity. I could not forget your conduct to me, Sansa. When you turned on me, and in such a fury declared that you abhorred me worse than anyone else in the world, you frightened me!”  
In her confession, Lysa began to look paler again. “Bring me water, make haste,” she pleaded Sansa, who quickly stood and poured water, and then helped her aunt drink it.  
“Please, Aunt, think no more of it. Let it pass from your mind. Forgive me, for I was a child, and it was years ago.” Sansa asked quietly after her aunt had drank her fill.  
Lysa turned away. “I tell you, I could not forget it, and I took my revenge. I wrote to your half-brother, and I said that Sansa Stark was dead, that she had died of typhus that swept Quiet Isle years ago. Now, act as you please. Write and contradict my claims. Expose my falsehood as soon as you can.”  
Looking again at Sansa, her voice rose and filled with anger. “You were born to be my tormenter. My last hour is wracked by the memory of a deed, which, but for you, I should never have been tempted to commit.” She lay, panting, as Sansa once again attempted to hold her Aunt’s hand.  
“If you could be persuaded, think no more of it, Aunt, and regard me with your kindness and forgiveness.” Sansa pleaded with her.  
“You have a very bad disposition,” Lysa began.  
“My disposition is not so bad as you might think, “ Sansa said, trying her hardest to talk reason into her sickly aunt. “I am passionate, but no longer vindictive. Many times, as a child, I wanted to love you, if you had but let me!”   
“Do not talk to me so!” Lysa said, weeping. “You oppress me!”  
Sansa stood, anger and sadness washing over her, filling her with desires to rail against her Aunt, to weep and beg for forgiveness and love. Instead, she simply stood and placed the glass of water on the bedside table.   
She walked to the door, but with one last look at her Aunt, she said:  
“Love me then, or hate me as you wish. You have my full and free forgiveness. Ask now for the gods’ and be at peace.”

Lysa Arryn died, some three days later, without having exchanged more words with Sansa.  
As the company of Lysa’s friends filed in and out of her room to view the body and pay their respects, the old woman who had so slighted Sansa on her first day came to stand beside her.  
“It is a shame. With her constitution, she could have lived to be my age. Her life was shortened by troubles.” The woman looked pointedly at Sansa, and walked away.  
Sansa regarded the body of her aunt in silence, and tried not to let the tears flow from her eyes. Tears for what could have been, and tears for what was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello loves,  
> We've cracked 50 pages according to google docs, hooray!  
> thanks for staying patient with me while I slowly write these chapters!  
> Life post-breakup has been really rough on me, and it's sapped all my desire to write, but please rest assured that I have every intention of finishing this story, because it's something I've really enjoyed. The chapters just might be very slow because im not sure how much romance i can handle, but i'll do my best to give y'all the content you've been waiting for!  
> Thanks again to my lovely beta, Kat!  
> The format still is kind of wonky, and I'm working on it. It looks how I want it to, at least on my mobile, but web could use some work.   
> Thank you all,  
> love,  
> -Saelryth


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa breathed in the cool, crisp air as she walked through the dormant farmland that led up to Clegane Manor.   
It had been perhaps a month since her aunt had died, and Sansa had of course stayed for the funeral, and had helped with arrangements as much as she had been allowed to.  
Now, her nerves spun around in her stomach, wondering how she should approach her employer, especially after their last conversation.   
Sandor had been so rude when they had said goodbye. While she was somewhat accustomed to the strange manners her employer held, Sansa didn’t think she’d ever be used to the sudden swing in his mood, causing him to grow ice cold in moments.  
But now, she blushed. Thinking of her employer by his first name, really! It was quite acceptable amongst friends, but they were not, not really. Not in the eyes of proper society, any way.  
He was her employer, and nothing more, she tried to convince herself as she walked, watching the manor grow closer and closer.   
So caught up in her thoughts was she, that as Sansa approached a lop-sided ring of overgrown stumps, she stopped in her tracks, bewildered and enthralled by the sight before her.  
There, on a stump, in his riding gear, sat Sandor. He had a book in his hand, and a pencil in the other, and was silently drawing the overgrowth that surrounded him.   
He was bent over the book quite sharply, making his long black hair hang down around his face. The hand holding the pencil, the left, reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear as he continued to concentrate.  
There was no sunlight beaming down upon her benefactor, no display of manly charm and prowess, simply the calm, peaceful view of a man, deep in thought and concentration.  
To Sansa, it was beautiful. To see her volatile master in such a way, both calmed and engaged her heart in ways she could not explain.  
Reluctant to break the spell, she stepped forward a few feet, and, finally, Sandor’s head rose and his grey eyes met hers.  
“Hello,” Sandor said softly. “There you are.”  
Sansa was shocked. Had he been waiting for her? But how did he know she would be back today? She had followed the side path to the manor, and not the main road, so how was it that he was before her?  
“Well, come on,” Sandor’s voice was a bit louder, before lowering to say, “if you please.”  
Not knowing what to expect, Sansa walked forward, until she was standing in front of him, silent, and cautious.   
“And this is Sansa Stark,” Sandor regarded her as he began to erase a small portion of the drawing.   
Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the way he said her name.   
“Just one of your tricks to come on foot, and down the back way, I might add.”   
Her smile faded as he spoke next:  
“What the hell have you been doing this past month?”  
Sansa’s brow knitted in displeasure. She had hoped their reunion would have been more kind, more friendly.  
“I’ve been with my aunt, sir, who has now died.”   
“A true Sansa reply,” Sandor continued to shift his eyes back from his paper to her. “Good angels be my guard, she comes from the abode of the dead.” The twinkle in his eye and the way his mouth twitched made Sansa smile again.  
“I said you were an otherworldly creature,” Sandor said dryly.  
Sansa laughed. “I am not such, sir.”  
“Truant, then!” Sandor looked up at her again, his eyes piercing. “Absent from me a whole month, and forgetting me, I’m quite sure.”  
Sansa decided not to comment on that. “I thought you would be at the capitol, sir,”  
“And I supposed you found that out by second sight. But I am back.” Again, his manner had shifted, and Sansa was not uncomfortable, but slightly put off with his manner towards her.  
“I had a letter from Old Nan.” She replied. No second sight was graced to her, simply fond correspondence.  
Shifting, and looking towards the manor, Sansa sighed.  
“Stay still,” Sandor commanded, not unkindly.   
Sansa noticed that he was regarding her more, and glancing down at the paper in his hands, only to glance back up, to take her in.  
She blushed, as she realizes he was drawing her, but had no time to dwell on the feelings in her chest, when her employer went on,  
“And did she inform you of what I went to do in the capitol?” Sandor looked up at her.  
“Oh, yes, sir.” Sansa tried not to move much as she spoke. As a bit of an artist herself, she knew how frustrating it was to have a subject move about.  
“She told me you went to buy a new carriage and make arrangements for your wedding to Miss Tyrell, sir.”  
“Ah, but you should see the carriage, Sansa, and tell me if you don’t think it would suit Mrs Clegane exactly.” He stopped drawing and looked up at her, his gaze searching, but analytical.   
Sansa’s heart fell, but she made great effort not to show it.  
“I wish, at times, that I was a trifle better, to match her...externally,” Sandor said, his hair falling down around his face again, hiding his scars.  
“Tell me, you otherworldly creature that you are: you couldn't give me a charm or potion or something of that sort?” Again he brushed his hair behind his ear.  
“It would be past the power of magic, sir,” Sansa said, not sure if her response would be received in bad temper.  
Her fears were calmed as Sandor laughed. He regarded his drawing, and closed the book, pocketing it away in a saddle bag he had next to him.   
“Off with you, then, Sansa. Go and stay your weary wandering feet.” He paused. “At a friend’s threshold.”  
Sansa began to walk past him, her heart and mind whirling with emotions she could not and would not name. But even after this strange interaction, one emotion stood out to her.  
She paused next to her employer.  
“Thank you, Mister Clegane, for your generosity and kindness to me. I...I am strangely glad to be back again.” Inwardly, she shook as she said this, for it was admitting to parts of her that would best be kept buried. After all, he was as good as married.   
But she felt she owed him great thanks, and no amount of confusiong thought would stop her from being grateful towards him.   
“Wherever you are, it is my home.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. With a small gasp, she placed a hand over her mouth, turning red.  
Sansa turned and briskly walked away before he could say anything else.

Two weeks of precarious calm followed that incident. Sandor did not approach her with ill words and strange moods, if he approached her at all.   
And Sansa was strangely at peace, even though she felt a storm of emotion brew when she thought about the upcoming wedding, though nothing had been said about her master’s marriage. No preparations had been seen, and Old Nan knew nothing. It was as if the entire world had come to a halt upon her return.  
One morning, however, Sandor summoned Sansa to the drawing room. Nervously, she complied.  
As he shut the door behind them, Sansa feared that the conversation would once again be about Miss Tyrell, and she did now know how she could handle another discussion about the young blonde.  
As he bade Sansa to sit, Sandor continued to stand by the door.  
“Sansa, Clegane Manor is a pleasant place, is it not?”   
Nodding, Sansa replied, “Yes, sir.”  
“And you must have become, in some degree, attached to the house?” Sandor raked a hand through his black hair as he asked.  
“Indeed I am, sir,” Sansa smiled.  
“And attached as well to little Myrcella. Even to simple Old Nan.” His voice was not accusing, but simply inquisitive.  
Sansa smiled as she looked up at him. “I carry great affection for them both, sir.”  
“And you’d be sorry to part ways with them?” Sandor walked forward, placing a hand on the mantle of the fireplace, and rested his elbow upon a high-backed armchair next to him.  
Sansa was amazed at how large he was, but shook the thought from her mind.   
“Yes, sir,” she replied.  
“Pity.” He replied.  
Sansa’s face fell and her heart dropped from her chest to her stomach. She was to be let go, wasn’t she?  
“It is always the way, isn’t it?” Sandor asked as he moved from the fireplace to sit in the great armchair he had just rested upon.  
“No sooner than you are settled in a pleasant resting place tha n you must rise and move on.”  
Sansa was trying not to cry, keeping tears held inside as hard as she could. “Must I?”  
She looked up at him. “Must I leave Clegane Manor, sir?”  
“Yes, I’m sorry, Sansa, but I believe you must.” He did not blink as he watched her face fall.  
“I shall be ready when the order comes, sir.” Sansa bowed her head to look at her hands.  
“It has come now,” Clegane’s voice was soft, but firm.  
Sansa looked up at him, realizing what had happened. “Then you are to be married, sir.”  
“Exactly and precisely, you have hit the nail on the head, as with your usual acuteness.” He bit out.  
“Soon, sir?” Sansa could not bear it to look at him, her heart felt as if it was being torn to shreds.  
“Very soon, my-Miss Stark.” His gaze did not leave her, so Sansa could not let the tears flow freely.  
“And you’ll remember that the first time I intimated that I intended to take Miss Tyrell to be my wife, you said, with that discretion that I admire in you, that you and Myrcella had better trot, forthwith.”  
Sansa was shocked at his coldness, but used all her willpower to respond. “I shall seek a new situation immediately, sir.”  
“In a month, I hope to be a bridegroom. In the interim, I myself will look out for employment for you.” He was frank, matter-of-fact.  
“I am sorry to put any trouble to you-” Sansa began, beforeClegane cut her off.  
“No need to apologize, you’ve done your duty well. You have sort of a claim upon me.” He paused, and Sansa courageously glanced up at him.  
“Indeed, I may have heard of a situation that may suit. The eight daughters of one Mister Martell, in Dorne.”  
“Dorne?!” Sansa rose with a fury she could not contain any longer.   
“You would like Dorne, I think, for they are a very warm-hearted people there, so they say.” He replied, looking up at her.  
Sansa’s head spun, anger and fear flooding through her. “But it is so far away!”  
“From what?” Clegane said softly.  
“Well, from the Kingdoms, and this Manor, and from-” She cut herself off, willing herself not to say what she felt.  
“And?” he enquired, almost as if he expected something.  
Closing her eyes, Sansa felt all of the emotions she had tried to ignore flood over her. It was true, wasn’t it?  
“From you sir,” She blurted out, opening her eyes to look into his indifferent grey eyes.   
She ran from the room, tears flooding her face.  
It’s true, she thought as she ran up the stairs, and into her room. She flung herself on the bed, sobbing and cursing the emotion that had claimed her.  
it’s true. She thought as she clung to her pillow. I love him.

She had cried all day. It had been midmorning when he had called her to his presence. And now, it was night, the cool air blowing through her open window calming her, soothing and gentle with it’s breezes.   
Finally, Sansa rose from her bed, and smoothed her rumpled skirts. If this was to be her last month at Clegane Manor, she should enjoy the lovely house and company while she could.  
A walk in the garden would calm her spirit, she told herself, and readied herself for a cool evening stroll.   
The air in the garden was fragrant, and smelled of flowers that had yet to die in the ever worsening cold. Sansa walked slowly and calmly, trying to convince herself to stay cheerful, for this was her favorite part of the grounds. But in her heart, she could not. With a heavy sigh, Sansa sat in a little alcove, hidden from view, and placed her hands in her lap, trying not to focus on the thoughts and feelings that raged inside of her.   
“We’ve been good friends, Sansa.” His voice was soft, and carried over to her.   
Sansa startled, and looked up at him, standing across the way from her.   
Again, he was where she was sure he could not be! He must have figured out her favorite spots to hide in the garden.  
“Have we not?” He asked.  
“Yes, sir,” Sansa replied, loathe to talk to him now. All she wanted was the quiet, cool air to soothe her broken heart.   
“Then we shall sit together in peace and friendship tonight, even if we should be destined never to do so again.” Clegane sat down in the alcove across from her’s quietly. The light from the lamps spread sparsely around the garden lit his face dimly.  
“It’s a long way to Dorne, and I am sorry to send my little bird on such weary travels, but if I cannot do better, how is it to be helped?” He sounded remorseful, but Sansa tried to harden herself towards him. Though it was not his fault she was in love with him and he not with her, she still felt anger towards him.  
“Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Sansa?” He asked quietly. “Because I have a strange feeling in regards toward you. Especially when you’re near to me, as now. And if that long, far stretch of land come broad between us, I’m afraid some cord of communion would be snapped, and I shall take to bleeding inwardly.”  
Sansa was again overcome with emotions, tears silently falling down her cheeks. Why must he say such things? Of course he did not realize the pain it caused her, for he only meant these words in friendship, but to Sansa, it washed over her painfully, as if a hole had appeared and eaten her heart.  
“As for you, Sansa. You’d forget me.”   
“I never should, sir.” Sansa cried out at him, tears flowing more freely.   
A bird song broke through her haze of pain, and Sansa stopped crying momentarily.  
“Do you hear the nightingale singing in the woods, Sansa?” Clegane asked in earnest, almost excited. “Listen.”  
Listening to the bird, Sansa again felt the sorrow and pain flood her mind and heart.   
“I wish I’d never been born. I wish I’d never seen this Manor.” She murmured, softly enough that he strained to hear her.  
“Why, because you’re sorry to leave it?”   
“I love-I love the Manor. I love it because in it, I have lived a full and joyous life, and have not been trampled upon or mistreated. I have talked face to face with what I revere and delight in. I’ve known you, Mister Clegane.”  
Her emotions took hold, and finally, it was as if a dam broke. Words flowed without her knowing, but still, truth was spoken.  
“It strikes me with terror and anguish to be torn from you, to be away from you forever. I see the necessity of departure, and it is to me as if looking upon the necessity of death.” Her voice had risen, but still, she was too afraid to truly let her emotions control her. She did not yell or scream, but she cried.  
“And where do you see the necessity?” He asked softly, his deep, rough voice a calm sound in her sea of emotions.  
“You placed it before me! Miss Tyrell, your bride-”  
“My bride?” His voice rose. “What bride? I have no bride.”  
“You will, sir,” Sansa calmed and looked at her hands. She had to be strong in her resolve. If she was to leave, she must be courageous in the face of all that fell before her.  
“Yes, I will have.” His words were contrary, but Sansa had not the energy to unravel his cryptic meanings. She had made her mind up.  
“Then I must go.” Sansa said firmly.  
“No, Sansa, you must stay.” He replied, voice like iron. “I swear it.”  
“I tell you, I must go!” Sansa almost began to cry again. “Do you think that because I am poor, obscure, plain and without family, that I am soulless and heartless? I have as much soul as you and full as much heart! And if the Gods had blessed me with great beauty and much wealth, I would have made it as hard for you to leave me now as it is for me to leave you!”  
Her voice had risen and she was crying again, but her anger and hurt kept her from falling to bits. She was still firm and determined on her goal to leave.  
She rose and started to walk away, but something kept her back. Words unsaid that demanded to be let out.  
“It is my spirit that addresses yours,” Sansa said, turning to look at her employer once again. “Just as both had passed through the grave, and we stood at the feet of the Gods, equal. As we are.”  
“As we are.” he replied quietly. “So, then.”  
He rose and walked over to where Sansa stood, and in a quick motion, grasped both of her arms gently, pulling her towards him.   
Sansa cried more, did he not realize he was torturing her? She tried to struggle against him, but her emotional exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she fell limp into his arms for a sweet moment, feeling the warmth and strength of his arms around her, and the safety and masculine energy he exuded.   
Realization hit her and she began to struggle. “You are a married man, or as good as,” She protested. His arms tightened around her,  
“Married to a woman who is inferior to you, and one I believe you do not truly love!” Her temper flared as she struggled. “I would scorn such a marriage, therefore, I am better than you! Let me go!” Thoughts of propriety were far from, her mind, only the pain and sweet happiness of being in his arms consumed her now.  
Scared of this, she began to struggle more.  
Sandor groaned. “Sansa, do not struggle so, like a wild, frantic little bird.”  
“I am no bird,” Sansa replied angrily. “I am a free human, with an independent will, and I will leave you!” With those words, he abruptly let her go.  
“It is your will that shall decide your destiny. I offer you my heart, Sansa. My hand, and a share of all my possessions.” His voice was earnest, almost urgent, but Sansa doubted.  
“You’re having a jape with me,” She spat coldly.   
“Sansa, I ask you to pass through life at my side, to be my second self, my best earthly companion. Come, Sansa. Come here, to me.” He reached out his hand, and Sansa stepped away.  
“Your bride stands between us.” She said icily.  
“My bride is here.” His voice rose. “Because my equal is here, and my likeness.”  
Sandor took her hands in his, his eyes bright and piercing. “Sansa, will you marry me?”   
She scoffed.  
“Do you doubt me, Sansa?”   
“Entirely.” She hissed.  
“You have no faith in me?” His voice trembled with anger.  
“Not a whit,” Sansa replied brusquely.  
“Am I a liar in your eyes?” He demanded. “What love have I for Miss Tyrell? None, and that you know! What love has she for me? I shall never marry that mercenary.”  
He raked a hand through his hair, and Sansa almost swore she saw tears in his eyes.  
“You...You strange, unearthly thing. I love you as my own flesh. I entreat you, accept me as your husband.”  
Sansa paused, her eyes welling with tears. This was all she had ever wanted, all she had ever hoped for, and it stood before her, but surely this was a dream? Some farce played upon her?  
“Sansa, I must have you for my own” Sandor pleaded, his hand still outstretched. “Entirely my own. Will you be mine?”  
Sansa was silent as the grave, her mind and heart ablaze with so many thoughts, and was torn between two sides. One, to walk away and find her life elsewhere, or two, to stay and trust this man, and find her life here.  
“Accept me, marry me, Sansa, please, I…” His voice was pleading and desperate.  
“Mister Clegane, please let me look at your face.” Sansa replied, determined ind now in her path.  
He scoffed, but again swept his hair away from his face.   
Nervously, Sansa stepped forward to look at him, all of him, properly. The scars that covered one side of his face, and the handsome features on the other. The beautiful grey eyes and sharp nose, his lips, set to a line now in his discomfort. Sansa knew this was more than he was comfortable with, but she needed to see…  
“Are you in earnest?” She murmured. “Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish for me to be your wife?”  
His face, open to hers fully, displayed emotions of frustration and discomfort. But his watery eyes, and the tear marks down his scarred cheek spoke another story.  
“I do, and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it, Sansa.” His voice was rough and cracking with emotions.  
“Then, Sandor,” Sansa gently placed her hand in his outstretched one, allowing herself to drift ever closer to him. “I will marry you.”  
“Make my happiness,” His voice said in a rough whisper, “And I will make yours.”  
His hand tightened around hers and he pulled her into himself, strong, warm arms wrapping around her, enveloping her in his love. His hand went to her hair, entwining his fingers in her red locks, and he rested his chin on her head, holding her as close and as tightly as he could.  
Sansa burst into tears, and he held her while she cried, stroking her hair and squeezing her tightly, whispering soothing words to her as her tears flowed.  
As her tears subsided and she was left with simply his presence pressed to her and holding her in such a way, Sansa relaxed and sank into his embrace more fully with the realization that he was in earnest, and that she was loved, finally and fully loved.  
“Gods padron me and may man meddle not with me, I have her, and will hold her.” He rasped.  
“Sandor, there is no one to meddle, I have no kindred to interfere.” Sansa did not understand his words, but lifted her head to look at him.  
He bowed his head towards hers, letting their foreheads gently touch. “No,” He breathed as he looked into her blue eyes. “That’s the best of it,” he finished with a smirk.  
“Are you happy, Sansa?” He whispered, leaning his face towards hers, his nose touching hers.  
“Yes,” Sansa replied, feeling the heat of his arms and the beat of his heart against hers.”It will atone,” he breathed. “My love and constancy will atone, and the Gods will judge me kindly. For man’s opinion, I defy it.”  
“Sandor?” Sansa asked, not understanding his words.  
He smiled back at her, hands playing in her hair as he gently kissed her.   
Sansa’s heart soared, and she moved in his arms, trying to press into him closer, as if it were possible.   
He smiled and chuckled against her lips, before withdrawing, and letting her cup his scarred cheek in her hand, her thumb rubbing gently against the tough skin.   
There were no words spoken as he kissed her again, a more urgent kiss than the last, demanding her love and affections from her. She replied as best she could with her own love and desire, but not sure what to do with her lips, she gently moved them against his.  
Sandor groaned and his grip in her hair became stronger, this hand on her waist drawing circles against her bodice.  
As they withdrew for breath, Sandor looked at her. “You are a temptress, little bird. For your lips speak of promises I must wait to keep.”  
Sansa’s brow furrowed. “I did not mean to-”   
“You did nothing wrong, little bird,” Sandor laughed as he petted her hair. “Merely explored what is yours to explore.”   
“If I did nothing wrong, will you kiss me again?” Sansa breathed.  
A spark in his eyes flamed as he stroked her cheek, and brought her in closer this time, as his lips gently pressed against hers, her eyes closing at the sensation.   
It was foreign and strange, but so right...she thought, as she basked in his affections.  
When he moved his lips a bit, Sansa bravely followed suit, moving against him softly, angling her head to become closer, to feel him better, for something she wasn’t sure of but needed.  
With a growl, his lips began to move against hers faster, and Sansa felt heat began to pool inside of her, her arms and legs warming, and her face becoming red, her heart beating faster.  
Breaking away from her for air, Sandor was panting almost, his eyes darker than usual.   
He did not lean to kiss her again, but Sansa felt the heat in her body begin to cool, and she wanted more. She wanted him, she wanted, but did not know how or what, but knew his love was the key.   
So Sansa, tall that she was, stood on tiptoes and kissed him. It was soft and gentle, but it was her first kiss given, and she had given it to him.  
That thought crossed his mind, and with a strangled noise, Sandor grasped her in his arms and began to shuffled her backwards, against the wall next to the alcove he had hidden in, and pressed her firmly against the wall.  
He grasped her chin in his hand and angled her face slightly, his hunger for her consuming him.   
He pressed his lips against hers, both of them moving together as one, and a wicked thought entered his mind.  
Gently, he opened his mouth, and licked her lips with his tongue.  
Sansa’s eyes flew open and she gasped.   
Sandor chuckled as they parted. “I will have to teach you more, little bird.”  
“Teach me more?” Sansa’s heart pounded in her chest, her body warm and tingly.  
“Yes, more.” He kissed her lips, and then her cheek. “Would you like that, Sansa?”  
He kissed down her cheek, to her jawbone, and began to run kisses down her exposed neck.  
Sansa’s body was on fire, flaming, as he kissed her there. Her hand flew to her mouth and she pressed it against her lips to avoid making any noise, but as Sandor licked up the column of her neck, she couldn’t help but let escape a soft moan as her eyes fluttered shut and she let herself bask in his attentions.  
His hands had pulled her waist close to his, and he resisted the urge to mimic the movements the more carnal side of him demanded. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her.  
“Never,” Sandor stroked the hair from her face gently, watching as she panted in his arms, removing her hand from her mouth gently. “Hide from me. I want to hear everything.”  
He kissed her cheek once more, and then, because he couldn’t resist himself, he gently kissed to her ear, pulling her lobe into his mouth and gently biting it, causing Sansa to gasp and let out a low moan.   
Chuckling at her, Sandor pulled back. “No more, for tonight, little bird. My will can only stand so much.”  
Sansa nodded, and Sandor inwardly groaned at the expression on her face, so full of love and earnestness, her pupils blown wide and her face a lovely rosey color. It would take all he had to keep himself in check with her, this beautiful otherworldly creature of his.  
“Come,” he said, grasping her hand and pulling her close “Let us go inside for now.”  
They walked out of the garden hand in hand, smiling at each other.  
At the door to the kitchen, Sandor pulled her in close once more to kiss her lips gently, and then her forehead, before opening the door for her and ushering her in.

Old Nan closed the curtains in her window. She had heard raised voices earlier, and had peered out, only to see nothing. But then, She stepped into the light and he followed.   
The older woman watched fearfully as he kissed her, and led her inside.  
“This is bound to end in heartbreak,” she murmured as she locked the window, and settled down for a restless night’s sleep.

The next day, Sandor stood, impatient, in the drawing room, gazing out of the window. He paced and sighed, his mind racing and his heart full of joy, a feeling he had not felt in ages, if ever.  
Huffing furiously, he strode to the doors of the drawing room, and threw them open, peering outside. Unsatisfied, he then walked to the base of the stairs and gazed longingly up them, but he saw no one on the stair.  
Returning to the drawing room, he thought about what had happened last night.  
How furious Sansa had been! But then, how soft and pliant her lips were against his, how he had poured his love and every emotion he felt for her into those kisses.  
It was enough to get his blood up, rising hot through his veins, but he would not think on it now. Sansa deserved a proper gentleman, and he would do his best to be that for her.  
Growling, he ran a hand through his hair, and whipped around as he heard footsteps.  
Practically running to the door, he saw his beloved little bird barreling down the stairs, and her face was full of joy.  
Opening his arms to her, Sansa ran straight to him.  
“Come and bid me good morning, Sansa,” He said, smiling wide as she impacted into him, the force of her embrace causing him to take a step back.  
Picking her up in an embrace, Sandor spun her around, much to Sansa’s surprise.  
“You look blooming and smiling and beautiful, truly beautiful this morning,” He hummed into her ear, and kissed her neck before putting her down.  
Sansa could not stop smiling or giggling, and as the two parted, Sandor brushed a strand of hair away from her face.  
She regarded his smile, which was more like a grimace on his burned side, but she could not find it within herself to care how he looked when he smiled, the unburnt side was grinning and grey eyes sparkling, full of love and joy. Altogether, she regarded him as beautiful.  
“Is this my pale, otherworldly creature?” Sandor asked, almost in awe.  
“It is Sansa Stark, sir,” She replied teasingly, rising on tiptoe to press her nose against his.  
“Soon to be Sansa Clegane,” He replied in a happy growl, that was full of promise.  
“In four weeks, little bird. And not a day more.”  
Sansa felt her cheeks go red as she thought of the kisses last night, and knew that the promise in his words would mean more ‘lessons,’ more teaching, and she was quite excited for that, for him, all of him.  
“What, you’re blushing!” Sandor cupped her cheek in his hand, his smile growing wider. “What’s that for, then?”  
“Sansa Clegane, it seems so strange!” Sansa giggled, not meeting his eyes.  
“Yes,” Sandor murmured, lifting her chin to make her eyes contact his. “Mrs. Clegane.” His voice was full of love and something else, something beautiful and dark and manly.  
“Sandor Clegane’s little bird of a bride.”  
Motioning her to sit, but not releasing her hand, Sandor was entranced by the way Sansa’s hastily put up hair had decided to slip loose, framing her face with long red strands that he longed to bury his face in, to breathe in her scent.  
“Human beings never enjoy happiness, complete happiness, in this world.” Sansa said. “I am no exception, and this seems a daydream!”  
Laughing, Sandor stood and made his way to a desk on the opposite side of the room.  
“Which I will realize! Sansa, I wrote this morning to my banker in the capital, to send for certain jewels he has in his keeping. I shall pour them upon you, hang diamond chains around your neck.” His mind began to wander, imagining Sansa with nothing but jewels adorning her person. He growled lowly as Sansa stood and rushed to his desk.  
“Please do not speak to me as if I were a great beauty, I am not. I am your little bird” she implored him, not feeling worthy of such splendor to be given to her.  
“Sansa, you are a great beauty. And doubly so in my eyes, and I shall make the world acknowledge such beauty.” He thought of people in the streets of the capital, turning to look at the beautiful Sansa, and admiring how great her beauty was, far more than any Tyrell wench could hope to achieve. He hoped that she would see her worth, and change from plain, simple dresses to finery that suited her inward beauty as well as outward, he wanted her to shine.  
But Sansa, his beautiful little bird, was as shy as a bird might be.  
“Then you won’t know me, I won’t be your little bird any longer.” Sansa pleaded with him.  
“I do not speak to you as though you were handsome, though I love you dearly,too dearly to flatter you. Please, Sandor, don’t flatter me.” Sansa felt quite uncomfortable with the idea of being in gorgeous ball gowns and adorned with fine things. She liked being herself, though she expressed it rather plainly in her outward appearance.  
“Please do not send the letter,” She said quietly, trying not to hurt him. She truly appreciated his desire to show his love through worldly gifts, but preferred his attentions and affections to any gold or jewels he might possess.  
Sighing, Sandor took the letter in his hands, and ripped it in two. He smiled. He admired her steadfastness and honesty, her willpower that drove her to always remain true to herself, even though he still wished to spoil her.  
“You must ask me for something else, then.” He said in earnest, trying to please her, to shower her with the things and feelings she was truly worth, and to express to her how dearly he valued her.  
“Very well,” Sansa said, standing straight and folding her hands together, a smile playing on her lips.  
She thought of many things she could ask, and part of her screamed to ask for more kisses, but she tried her best to ignore that corner of her mind as she searched for something to ask of her love.  
“My curiosity is very much peaked on one matter.” She said, licking her lips nervously.  
“What?” Sandor all but growled, his eyes darkening and locked on Sansa’s glorious face  
“Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Sansa.” He sat in his chair as she circled around him, and came to stand behind him.  
Sandor’s heart was beating fast, and he hoped, oh he hoped, that she would ask one thing of him that he could not resist, to hold her in his arms and shower her with love as he had done the night before.  
Surely, he thought, she would not be so bold as to ask him for more, but gods, did he want her.  
Placing her hands on his shoulders and leaning in close to his ear, Sansa asked something he had not expected.  
“Why did you go to such pains to make me believe that you wished to marry Miss Tyrell?” She asked, with a hint of a bite in her voice.  
That was all she would ask of him? He wondered. She could have him at her feet, worshipping her, body and soul, and all she asked was why he had played such a cruel game. For it was cruel, and he knew it.  
He sighed. “Is that all? Thank the gods it's no worse,”  
Hanging his head slightly, he began to form a reason and an apology.  
“I confess, I…” His voice trailed off. “Even though I risk rousing that fiery temper of yours, that I wanted to make you as madly in love with me as I was with you.”  
He slowly raised his head and turned slightly so that they were touching foreheads, and his heart almost burst when Sansa leaned into him more.  
“I tried to arouse your jealousy, and it….it was wrong.” Sandor finished, shame flooding through him.  
“That was a burning shame, Sandor, did you think nothing for Miss Tyrell’s feelings?” Sansa stood straight and asked.  
“Miss Tyrell’s feelings were no more than pride and greed, little bird,” He bit out. “She was glad to be rid of me.”  
Sansa sighed and again pulled herself closer to his large frame, hugging him and resting her head next to his.  
“You have a curious, designing mind, Sandor Clegane,” She smiled.  
“My principles were never trained as were yours, Sansa Stark.” He replied truthfully.  
Laughing, Sansa stood straight and made to walk back to her seat, when his hand reached out and caught her wrist.  
“Sansa,” Sandor murmured, looking her straight in the eye. “I am sorry.”  
Sansa stood a moment, and then smiled, leaning close to him, and kissing him on the forehead.  
“I forgive you,” She murmured as Sandor raised himself up to kiss her firmly on the lips.  
“I am sorry, little bird,” He repeated, after reluctantly ending the kiss. “I won’t say it again” He cut in before Sansa could form a reproach. “But you have my deepest apology for the cruel game I played.”  
“And you,” Sansa said as she brushed his hair away from his face, “Have my deepest forgiveness, my love.”  
Sandor kissed her again.

“I..I am deeply astonished,” Old Nan replied, her voice full of shock, and almost horror.  
Sansa had expected this, to some degree. To marry above her station, to a lord, was quite unheard of in polite society.  
“I am so astonished, that I hardly know what to say to you, Miss Stark. Have you accepted his proposal?” The elderly woman continued.  
“Yes, I have,” Sansa grinned despite herself.  
“I could never have thought it,” Old Nan was deep in shock. “He means to marry you?”  
Sansa giggled at the thought. “He tells me so,”  
“Well,” Old Nan shook her head. “It passes me. No doubt it is true, since you say so.” She paused for a moment. “There are fourteen years of difference in your ages! He might almost be your father!”  
“Oh no, indeed, Nan!” Sansa reproached. “And no one who saw us together would suspect it for an instant! Mister Clegane looks as young and acts as young as many men of twenty-five.”  
Nan sobered quite heavily.  
“Is it really only for love that he is marrying you?” She asked gently.  
Sansa’s face fell, and her horror at the question must have been plain to see, for Old Nan quickly continued.  
“I am sorry, dearest, I do not wish to grieve you. But you are so young, and so little acquainted with men. I wish to put you on your guard.”  
“Against what, Nan?” Sansa was confused and curious. What could possibly be so wrong with this arrangement that she needed to be on her guard?  
“In this case, I do fear that there might be something found different to what either you or I expect.”  
“Why?” Sansa asked, her voice rising. “Am I a monster? Is it impossible that Mister Clegane should have a sincere affection for me?”  
“No dearest!” Nan held her hands up, almost pleading. “I daresay he is extremely fond of you. But gentlemen in his station are not accustomed to marrying their governesses. There have been times when, for your sake, I have been a little uneasy at his marked preference, and have wished to put you on your guard. But I did not like to suggest the possibility of something wrong.”  
“Wrong?” Sansa asked quietly. “Nan, we are marrying.”  
“Last night I cannot tell you what I suffered when I saw you coming in with him at such a late hour.” Nan wrung her hands, and Sansa rolled her eyes.  
“It was enough that all was right,” She insisted.  
Nan shook her head. “I hope all will be right in the end.”

That night, Sansa lay in her bed, sleeping fitfully.  
Quietly, the door unlatched and opened, the figure in white slid quietly into her room, and Sansa tossed and turned.  
The figure made its way quietly towards the box in which her finest white dress was found. The box made a loud noise as it opened, and Sansa wakened, sitting up straight in her bed.  
“Sandor?” She whispered. “Is that you?”  
She watched as the white dress and a veil Sandor had given to her was lifted by the figure, who was still sheathed in darkness.  
“What are you doing?” Sansa whispered again. There was no answer.  
The figure put the veil on, and crept towards the little mirror Sansa kept on her dresser. Sansa could see enough now to know that it was not Sandor, for this figure looked to be a woman.  
Desperately, she tried to wake up from this nightmare.  
The figure bent in front of the mirror, looking at itself, before mumbling incoherently, and then ripped the veil off, and began to rip it to shreds, grunting and swearing as it did.  
The figure grabbed a candle, and leaped towards Sansa, who could now she wild green eyes and unkempt blonde hair flying about.  
She screamed and all she saw was black.

“It was not Grace!” Sansa cried as Sandor attempted to comfort her the next day.  
“It was nothing but a creature of your imagination!” He soothed, “I must be careful of your nerves, my treasure.”  
Sansa grabbed his hands. “Sir,” she said sharply, desperate to be understood. “The thing was real!”  
“And your dreams beforehand, were they real?” Sandor gripped her hands hard. “Now, is the manor a ruin?”  
Sansa shook her head and tears welled up in her eyes. She could not understand why on Earth her beloved did not believe her.  
“You had another dream, Sansa.” Sandor implored.  
“And this?” Sansa bit out, grabbing the torn veil. “This, your special gift to me, ruined?” She showed the tattered ruins of the veil to him, and he ran his fingers through the soft fabric.  
“Well, thank the gods if anything malignant did come near you last night, it was only the veil that was harmed.” He rose up and gathered her in his arms.  
“To think what might have happened,” His voice cracked.  
Sansa was determined, even safe and sound in his arms. “But tell me who or what that woman was.”  
Sandor straightened, but did not release her, still holding her tightly.  
“Sansa, it was half-dream, half-reality.”  
Sansa pulled away to protest, but Sandor caught her head in his hands gently and looked down at her.  
“Look, clearly someone entered your room last night, and it had to have been Grace.”  
Sansa shook her head but he went on.  
“You said yourself that she’s a strange creature! Now, what did she do to me? To Lannister? You were between sleeping and waking, feverish, almost delirious in that dream, and you saw her as she was not, crazed and twisted, quite different from her own shape. You had a nightmare, little bird.”  
Sansa was so confused, but his words made sense to her, and she dared to find comfort in them, but part of her was still not satisfied, for she knew what she had seen!”  
Sandor released her, and made to pick up the veil.  
“The spiteful tearing of this veil is real, and like her...” He trailed off.  
Sansa’s temper flared. “Then why do you keep her-”  
“I see you would ask me yet again why I keep such a woman in my house!” His voice rose to a yell, his own temper flaring back at her.  
Sansa hung her head, shocked at the volume in his voice.  
“When we are married a year and a day, I will tell you. Not before.” His voice was low, almost hard to hear.  
Sansa tentatively looked up at him, and saw his forlorn face. Eyes meeting, they made towards each other, and embraced fiercely.  
Sandor began to kiss the top of her head, playing with her hair as his fears drained from him. He kissed all over her face, and on to her lips, and Sansa responded with her own kisses, letting her anger flow from her as they showered each other with love.  
Heat began to course through her as Sandor’s lips moved against hers, and he traced his tongue along the lines of her mouth. Sighing, she opened her lips and let him in, let him stroke her and tease her, until she was brave enough to respond to him on her own accord.  
His hands traveled down to her neck, stroking his thumb over her veins, applying some pressure, and Sansa shivered.  
His kisses and his touch ignited something in her she longed to chase, but that would be best explored more after the wedding, she knew.  
As they parted for air, Sansa’s hair fell in her face, and Sandor laughed as he brushed it away.  
Leaning down to gently kiss her again, he smiled.  
“Are you satisfied?” He rumbled.  
Sansa thought for a moment, and then nodded.  
“I should go and finish my packing,” She admitted, looking up at him.  
Sandor grumbled and Sansa stretched up to kiss him again, to quiet his complaining.  
She could get lost in his kisses, and very much did, for several minutes later, her hair was all hanging loosely, her neck was thoroughly kissed and gently bitten, and her lips were swollen, eyes blown wide and panting as they parted.  
“Go,” He whispered, holding her hand as she walked away, letting it drop from his with a smile.  
As Sansa reached the door, he changed his mind on letting her go quite yet.  
“Wait,” He called, and she turned.  
“Doesn’t Myrcella have a maid that sleeps with her in the nursery?” He knew the answer.  
“Yes, of course,” Sansa replied, trying in vain to pin her hair back up.  
“You’d better share it with them, tonight, little bird.” he suggested.  
“I’ll do so gladly,” Sansa smiled, giving up with her hair.  
“And lock the door on the inside?” He more commanded than asked, walking back to her and grabbing her in his arms.  
“Sleep well, little bird. No nightmares tonight. Dream of happiness.”  
And he kissed her again. 

The weeks approaching the wedding flew by with no more incident, and eventually, Sansa returned to her own room. There were idyllic hours spent in Sandor’s arms, locked away from the rest of the world.  
He would kiss her and ravish her neck, but had sworn to go no further until they were married.  
Sansa would spend moments daydreaming about life as Mrs Clegane, and eventually, the incident almost faded from her mind completely.  
When finally the day came, Sansa’s nerves were quite high as she walked down the stairs, into the hallway, where her dearest was waiting for her.  
His eyes drank in the sight of her in a hastily ordered yet well made wedding dress. He murmured to her that she was beautiful, and perfect, and several other things that made her blush.  
His compliments kept coming as they walked outside and approached the carriage, and when he opened the door and ushered her inside, he grew silent.  
As the carriage lumbered across the roads to the nearest church slowly, Sandor leaned down and whispered in her ear  
“I am going to make love to you tonight, little bird.”  
Sansa gasped and turned red, heat flooding her.  
“I want to hear you sing,” He growled as he gently bit and sucked on her earlobe.  
Sansa was in heaven, overwhelmed and hot. His kisses trailed down her neck, and he longed to grab her hand and place it on his growing erection, but with a groan, Sandor pulled himself away, and simply hugged her close, trying to calm himself for the wedding ceremony.  
How he would make it through the day without ravishing her, he had no idea.

Sansa stood beside Sandor, and thought he looked the picture of a gentleman, dressed in his finest clothes. The waistcoat he wore was muted blue, and his overcoat and trousers were slate grey, almost matching his eyes.  
They paused at the door to the church, and a clergyman opened it for them. Sandor squeezed Sansa’s hand tightly as they headed inside.  
Pausing to take off his hat, Sandor took a deep breath, and wished quickly for a bit of red wine to calm his nerves.  
Sansa was almost bouncing next to him. His promises in the carriage aside, she was ready to be one with her most loved person.  
“Welcome, sir, madam.” The priest called as they walked into the sanctuary. There was no one there, save themselves, the priest, and the clergyman.  
“Would you kindly step up to the the communion rails?” The priest asked, gesturing to the finely carved wooden rails that separated the pulpit from the rest of the sanctuary.  
Arm in arm, Sansa and Sandor walked together up to the rails, smiling at each other as they went.  
The priest began his ceremonial speech, and tried to address Sandor, who quietly asked, when faced with a question that was more small-talk than ceremony,  
“Shall we proceed?”  
Sansa smiled. He was eager to marry her, and she was eager to marry him. His impatience could be forgiven.  
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, in the sight of the gods, in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman.”  
The priest began.  
Sansa tried to pay attention to the priest as he recited the traditional vows, but was too distracted, her mind whirling with thoughts of married life, of love, and Sandor’s promise of that night.  
“...Just cause, as to why they may not be lawfully joined together, speak now, or forever hold his peace.” The priest was saying as Sansa returned to reality.  
“I am required to ask of you both, before the Gods and this congregation, that if either of you know of any impediment why you may not lawfully be joined together in matrimony, to now confess it.” the priest went on.  
“For be assured-”  
“I declare an impediment!” A loud voice came from the back of the church, and Sansa froze, her heart pounding in her chest, and turned around to see none other than Mister Jamie Lannister walking into the sanctuary.  
Sandor did not turn around.  
“The marriage cannot go on,” Lannister said as he approached the pulpit, looking at Sansa with eyes full of pity.  
The priest looked at Sandor, who growled at him to proceed.  
The priest shook his head. “I cannot go on, sir, without first some inquiry as to what has been said!”  
Lannister pulled a set of documents from a case that he carried.  
“I am in a position to prove my accusations.” He stated firmly. “An egregious impediment to this marriage exists.”  
“Please explain, sir,” The priest said, glancing at Sandor, whose face was like thunder.  
“There exists a previous marriage.” Lannister held forth the documents.  
“Mister Clegane has a wife, who yet lives.”  
Sansa was struck with horror, fear, and disbelief. It could not be!  
She looked to Sandor, who slowly began to turn, his face blackened with rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, friends!
> 
> Tough chapter to write. I won't go into detail here, but struggling through post-breakup, this chapter, and the upcoming chapters will be very, very hard on me emotionally, so please don't get too worried over long chapter waits.  
> I'm trying to do as much as I can, but in case it's too much, I just want to reassure you all that I WILL be completing this story.  
> Just bear with me :)  
> Thanks again to Kat, who had to put up with so many spelling errors that I'm sure she probably never wants to see another chapter this messy again, lol.  
> Thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos, they help keep me going.  
> until next time,  
> -Sael

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all of the support from my readers, and my lovely beta reader, Kat! You can find her under the username TheLostSelf here on ao3!


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